Crash
by SuperFYB
Summary: Post Season 12. A ship is shot down on the outskirts of the Chorus army's territory. In the wake of the crash, the Reds and Blues are left with more questions than answers.
1. Chapter 1: The Crash

The blues were out doing recon when Tucker got a call from Kimball that a ship had crossed into secure airspace on the outer perimeter. Not ten seconds later, they heard explosions in the distance, and then a shriek as metal scraped the earth.

"What was that noise?" shouted Caboose, looking in the opposite direction.

"Ooh, ooh! Give me the sniper rifle!" Tucker ordered Wash.

"No! I'm using it right now."

"Come on! I never get the sniper rifle!"

"Then you should be used to the disappointment," Wash told him coldly. Tucker peered over his shoulder and tried to see down the ridge. Even without the rifle, he could see a pillar of black smoke start to rise in the distance.

"Guys…I think something explodeded," Caboose reported.

"No shit, Caboose," Tucker turned to berate him.

"Looks like it might have been a small drop ship, but there's not enough left of it to tell," Wash informed them. "Did we take it down?" he asked Tucker.

"Kimball, you get all that?" Tucker relayed to the FOB.

"I've got conflicting reports coming in. I'll get back to you when I've got better intel."

Wash lowered his rifle. "I want to check it out."

Tucker protested. "Man, you just checked it out! And we've already been out here all day. You said it yourself, there's nothing left to see."

Caboose gasped loudly, "Maybe there's a dead body!"

"If it disintegrated on impact, what in hell makes you think there would be a body left?" Tucker replied.

"Or…maybe another ghost! Oh, oh! I will name them Ghosty! And they will be friends with Church, and then they can fight over who is my bestest best friend! It will be amazing!"

"Caboose," Wash started with his politely condescending voice, "You do know that Church is an AI, right?"

"…Yes." Caboose went silent.

"Look, you can go back to base, but I'm checking out that crash site," Wash told Tucker.

Tucker crossed his arms over his chest indignantly. But, in all seriousness he responded quietly, "At least wait until tomorrow. It's almost dark, and we've been picking up Felix's guys out here for weeks."

Wash tensed up as he said it, but whispered back, "What if Caboose is right? What if there's somebody out there?"

"There are people out there! Bad guys!" Tucker gestured excitedly.

"I'm going," Wash told him stubbornly. "Caboose, you coming?"

Caboose: "Uhhhh…." He looked from Washington to Tucker, and back to Wash. Then he scooted over to stand next to Tucker. "I just remembered that ghosts are really mean to me."

"See?" Tucker smirked at Wash, "Caboose knows what's up." Wash stared at him silently until he realized what he'd just said. "Oh, f*&^, did I just say that?"

"I'll be back by morning," Wash told them.

"And if you're not?" Tucker asked.

Wash shrugged, "Send Carolina."

"Wow. F*& you, dude. C'mon, Caboose," Tucker shook his head and turned to head back to base. Wash had already started sliding his way down the rocky hillside.

* * *

It hadn't been five minutes since they parted that Wash heard Kimball's voice on his radio. "Since when is Tucker the voice of reason?" she asked him.

Wash started, "What?! How long have you been listening?"

"You all left your radios on."

Wash didn't answer, he returned his focus to the ridge up ahead and what might lie on the other side.

"Agent Washington, I really have to agree with Captain Tucker on this. Going into the badlands after dark and without backup is a recipe for disaster. And risking one of our best operatives to do it? This isn't sitting well with me."

Wash stopped. "Look, I understand it, and normally I'd agree with you." He looked up at the smoke, "But something in my gut tells me that this is all wrong. What about that intel I asked for earlier? Did you learn whether it was us that took it down?"

"In a way," Kimball responded. "It was our missiles, but no one gave the go ahead. It's like they fired all by themselves. Maintenance is checking everything out as we speak."

"So, it could've been a friendly?" Wash clarified.

"Even if they weren't hostile, they shouldn't have been in that airspace. As far as I'm concerned, it's a clean hit, whether we fired on purpose or not."

Wash shook his head. Even for Kimball, that was cold. "I'm going radio silent. Washington out." He didn't give her the chance to respond before he signed off. How was no one else feeling the bad vibes of this? Unidentified bogey comes in, and it just happens that missiles launch by themselves? No. Wash was going to get to the bottom of this. One way or another.

He reached the peak of the next hill and looked down—speaking of getting to the bottom of things—Large metal fragments littered the mesa below him. He hadn't seen it through the rifle, but there was actually a big chunk of the cockpit that had survived the initial crash. It was now in flames, pinned against a cliff face. "Well, that doesn't look good," he muttered to himself. Looking west, he managed to catch the sun dip below the horizon; twilight was setting in. Wash cursed. Maybe Tucker and Kimball had a point… But it was too late to do anything about it now.

Sliding down the hill, he rushed to the cockpit. Make no mistake, it was smashed well and good. But not quite good enough to rule out hope of a survivor. Fighting the flames, he ripped off pieces of siding. A minute or two into it, he glimpsed the blackened silhouette of a helmet. "Hello!" he yelled, "Can you hear me?" There was no response. "Shit!" Despite the likelihood that the pilot was dead, Wash went back to work with renewed vigor.

After ten minutes, he'd managed to clear enough away to reach the body. Cutting the seat belt, he leaned in and grabbed under it's arms, pulling it head first out of the hole he'd made. At this point, the flames had grown higher, and the sky much darker. Wash hadn't dragged it fifteen feet before the fire hit a gas line. The rest of the cockpit exploded, knocking him and the body another ten feet back.

* * *

"What a jack-ass! I mean, I never claimed to have the best decision making skills, but at least I'm not trying to get myself killed! And then he says to call in Carolina for backup? Like we're not good enough to help 'Mr. Freelancer!' What the hell's up with that? He's the one that f *&ing trained us! And he can't rely on us for backup?"

Caboose was looking down at his hands as they walked. "Two, four, seven, three…uh…nine, one, five, two, eight, six…" He gasped, horrified. "Tucker! I only have six fingers!"

Tucker reevaluated his former statement and made the correction: "And he can't rely on me for backup? What a complete asshole!"

It was a half-hour back to the warthog from their spot up on the hill, and Tucker continued to rant the entire way. By the time they arrived, the sun was setting, and he couldn't help but feel guilty for not going with Wash. Shaking his head, he muttered under his breath, "That stubborn son-of-a-bitch." And then he yelled at Caboose to get in the warthog.

They arrived back at base about an hour later. Agent Carolina and a scowling Epsilon on her shoulder were waiting for them in the garage. She looked at the back of the Warthog confusingly before turning to Tucker, "Where's Wash?"

Tucker crossed his arms over his chest. Caboose answered her, "He's at the crash site looking for ghosts."

"And you let him go alone?!" asked Carolina angrily.

"What the hell, Tucker?" Church chimed in.

"Oh, don't give me that! Wash doesn't need someone holding his hand for a f *&ing night mission."

"I'll hold your hand, Church!"

"Shut up, Caboose!"

"He said he'll be back before morning. So until then, screw you and your stupid judgement. I've been out there all day; I'm tired, and I'm hungry, and I'm done." With that, Tucker stormed out of the garage.

"What's got him so worked up?" Church asked.

"It's probably because he told Washington not to go to the crash site, but Washington didn't listen and left anyways…Or because I threw up in the jeep."

"Well, shit," Epsilon looked at Carolina who was looking down thoughtfully.

"It got all over the dashboard," Caboose kept mumbling.

* * *

Tucker headed for chow hall. It'd been ten hours since his last meal, and when he got through the line, he had a mountain of food on his tray. He noticed Grif and Simmons arguing at one of the tables in the back corner, so he went to join them.

"Oh, hey Tucker."

"Hey Simmons. Grif."

"Tucker. Dude, you gonna eat all that?" Grif looked longingly at the glorious pile.

He looked down at his tray. All of a sudden, he didn't have the appetite. "No," he told Grif, sliding it across the table. He rested his head in his hands. The sinking feeling in his gut told him he really shouldn't have let Wash go alone. If their roles were reversed, Agent Washington wouldn't have hesitated to follow him.

"Ugh, chew with your mouth closed, you f#^$ing pig!" Simons scooted away from Grif, who was lost in the mess of food. He noticed Tucker's defeated posture. "Umm…are you okay, Tucker?"

"I'm fine," he replied, scooting his chair back forcefully. Then he left the hall, muttering curses under his breath and slamming the door on his way out.

He showered, changed, and headed to his bunk, but the second he laid his head down, he knew he wasn't going to be able to sleep. So he put his armor back on and headed towards the western watchtower.

Palomo was on lookout when Tucker burst through the door. The Lieutenant yelped in fright, and then sighed in relief. "It's just Tucker," he reassured himself.

"Give me the sniper rifle," Tucker ordered him.

"I'm not supposed to be relieved for another three hours, sir," Palomo said, confused.

"Yeah, well…new orders: Give me the rifle."

"Uh. Yes, sir." He handed over the sniper.

"Oh yeah!" Tucker muttered, bringing it up to his visor. "Shit! How do you zoom in?" He turned around, but the Lieutenant had left. "I f *#ing hate you, Palomo!" he yelled after him.

It took another half hour for Tucker to figure out the zoom, and after that, things became very quiet. The later it got, the less movement there was outside. Other scouting groups were calling it a night and retiring to the base. But he wasn't watching for a warthog or a mongoose; he was waiting for a lone figure to come stumbling back, tired as hell, but none the worse for wear.

Two more hours passed without a sign of Agent Washington. Palomo's relief came in and Tucker cursed them out and went back to watching the horizon. "Come on, man. Where are you?" Not long after that, Carolina came in.

"So you're the crazy guy that took over the west tower? Why am I not surprised?"

"Go away, Carolina."

"What happened to going to bed?"

"Look, if you're here to bang, let's get to it. If not, then you can see yourself the f #$ out."

"Oh my gosh, why are you so perverted? Why can't any of you just act like normal human beings?"

"Because they're not normal human beings," Church popped up on her shoulder.

"Oh, you're one to talk!" Tucker snapped at him.

"Even in my situation, I'm more normal than you!"

"Your situation? You're a glowing midget strapped to this b* &#'s shoulder!"

"Oh shit! Did you just say that?"

They both tensed up and turned to Carolina to gauge her reaction. She took an intimidating step towards Tucker, when Church stepped in, "Come on, is killing him really worth it?"

She growled.

"Oh, you know what? Screw it! I'm not gonna pussy-foot around you just 'cause you can kill me. If you're gonna do it, then f *&ing do it already, because I've got other shit on my plate right now!" Tucker turned his back on them and resumed his lookout.

Carolina and Church could hardly believe their eyes. Neither could remember a time when anyone dared to turn their back on her. She left the tower without another word. Church stayed.

"Is this all about Washington?" he asked his friend.

"What makes you think I want to talk to you, Church?"

"I don't know! Maybe because talking's the only thing we've ever really been good at?"

Tucker didn't answer.

"We can make fun of the reds. That's always fun. And it's just so easy." He waved in front of Tucker's face, "C'mon, man! Talk to me!"

"What the hell do you want me to say? You want me to tell you I feel like a dick for letting Wash go off by himself? Or that I'm mad as hell he didn't listen to me? Or maybe that if something terrible does happen to him, it's gonna be my fault?"

"If you're that worried about him, why don't you just go?"

"I said I'll give him 'til morning, so I'll give him 'til morning. Until then, I'm going to assume he's fine."


	2. Chapter 2: The Way Home

When Wash woke up, it was eerily dark outside. The explosion had consumed the last of the fire, and cloud cover concealed any light source from the sky. He shifted to get up when he felt a sharp pain in his side. Flipping on night vision to see what the damage was, he cursed to himself. A piece of shrapnel had completely impaled him, and was now lodged in his side. If his suit hadn't self sealed with foam, he guessed he would have already bled out by now. Rolling over, he got into a position he could stand from. That's when he saw the charred armor lying next to him and he remembered what he'd been doing there in the first place.

He managed to crawl over next to it. Up close, he was surprised to find that most of the damage seemed superficial. The armor was scorched and black from the fire, but the under armor was mostly intact. A few scratches here and there, but not a lot of bleeding, which was a good sign. For a minute, he began to hope that this person might still be alive. Wincing, he shifted to get in a better position to take the helmet off. "Please don't be dead," he mumbled.

To his surprise, underneath was a woman. More importantly though, she was still breathing. Wash bowed his head in relief before looking back at her. She had a swollen lip with a cut through it, and a much deeper gash on her forehead. What worried him was the blood on his hand when he pulled it away from the back of her head. He turned her over so he could get a better look, but her short hair was soaked and matted with congealed blood. A head wound might explain why she still unconscious. He laid her back down gently and then grabbed her helmet to see what could have caused so much blood. In the back of it was a dent the size of a baseball. "Well, that'll do it," he muttered. Just then, she started to come to.

She blinked, and then gasped for breath, shooting up to a sitting position. "What the hell?" she exclaimed.

Wash put a hand on her shoulder. She flinched and scooted away. "Who are you?" she asked loudly.

He cringed. This was not a good place to be yelling. He put a finger over his mouthpiece to inform her of a little discretion. Then he answered the question, "My name is Agent Washington."

She squinted at him, deep in thought. "What?" she finally asked.

"I said, my name is Agent Washington," he repeated, a little louder and more annunciated.

She shook her head, "I got 'asian' and 'shit-ton' out of that."

"A-gent Wash-ing-ton," he repeated more slowly.

"Agent Washington?" she asked.

He nodded, a little relieved he didn't have to repeat himself again. "What about you?"

She looked puzzled again. He sighed, "Can. You. Hear. Me?" he emphasized the words.

Her eyes widened as she realized that might be the problem. "Oh shit! No, I don't think I can."

He winced at how loud she was being, and then gestured for her to shush again.

"Oh," she said more quietly. "Sorry," she tried to whisper. It was still loud, but not as much as before, so Wash figured he'd go with it.

If he had the time and equipment, he'd reconfigure her helmet as a hearing aid, but that wasn't the case. And with that dent in the back of it, he didn't know what good it would do her anyway. For now, he had to try and figure a way they could communicate. He'd picked up a little sign language over the years, but he didn't know if she knew any. Even if she did, it was too dark to see clearly. He would just take her back to base, but for all he knew, she could be working for the enemy.

For the moment, he was at a loss. Finally, he just said, "Who. Are. You?"

She hesitated, and reached nervously at the back of her head. "Ow," she muttered, before pulling her hand back. It was so dark, she could only just make out the blood on her glove. She looked fearfully up at him, "Agent Washington? I think I hit my head." She started to panic.

"Hey, hey. It's okay," he said, forgetting she couldn't hear him. "Don't freak out," he took her hand to try and calm her down. She was shaking.

She pulled her legs in, and hid her face in her knees. When she started mumbling incoherently to herself, Wash scooted closer, moving his hand to her shoulder. "It's okay," he told her, raising his voice so that she might hear him.

She shook her head. "It's not," she whispered. "I don't know who I am."

Wash sighed deeply. Here he was, in the pitch-black darkness with a piece of shrapnel lodged in his side, in the middle of a shallow, unprotected canyon in the badlands. And his only companion happened to be a deaf amnesiac. He went to radio base, but discovered that all comms were being jammed; that meant nothing good.

Grimacing, he managed to stand. The girl noticed the trouble he was having, and then the wound. "You're hurt," she said, concerned.

He didn't answer. Even if he had something to say to that, he knew she wouldn't hear him.

She stood up too, although she looked a little wobbly. "Can you walk?" she asked him.

"Of course I can walk," he responded defensively. Then he nodded a yes. But when he went to take a step forward, pain shot up his side. His legs buckled and he fell to his knees. "Maybe I can't walk," he muttered to himself. "No. We need to get moving." He pushed himself back up, remembering: pain is temporary. Standing up once more was agony, but he pushed through it anyways. He'd been through worse.

The girl still watched him with concern, but when he successfully limped over to her, she understood his resolve. "Can we call for help?" she asked him. He shook his head. "Where do we go?" He pointed vaguely towards the east (not that she could tell the direction).

They hobbled over to where the hills weren't as steep. It was a slow going, but Wash had a feeling that the sooner they got out of there, the better off they'd be.

* * *

"How much longer 'til sunrise?" Tucker eventually asked him.

Church sighed, "A couple hours."

"Could you be a little more specific?" Tucker asked, annoyed.

"A couple is two, dip-shit," Church retorted.

"Not when you're talking about time! It just means around two. That's not specific at all," Tucker argued.

"Maybe if I'd said 'a few' hours, you'd have a point. But I said 'a couple.' And a couple always means two!"

"A few is three, everyone knows that!"

"Are you f *#ing kidding me? Do you realize how contradictory that is?"

"Do you realize how contradictory your face is?"

"That doesn't even make sense!"

"Whatever, dude. Why don't you just f *& off?"

"Hey! It's not my fault you're pissed at Wash."

Tucker got quiet. "He should've been back by now."

"Look, it's like you said: Wash is a big boy. He can take care of himself."

"You don't get it, Church! I can't be responsible for another…No one else needs to die just because I screwed up. Especially not Wash."

"Thing is, Tucker: I do get it. I had to live through my friends dying over and over again, all because I wasn't good enough. But you know what? In the end, none of that mattered."

"Why?"

"Because they all died anyways. And it didn't have a f *&ing thing to do with me."

"Wow. Great pep talk. Thanks, Church."

"My point, is that shit happens. And you can either wallow in self-pity, or, you can accept that whatever happens is gonna happen whether you do something about it or not."

* * *

Wash lead them towards the road that would take them to base, but they were still a long ways away, and the pain in his side was gradually growing worse. Even the girl from the crash noticed how their pace became slower and their breaks more frequent. At one stop, Wash finally collapsed against a large boulder, clutching the wound tightly. The foam had sealed it from bleeding out, but that didn't mean it wasn't doing damage internally. By now, his whole body felt like it was on fire, and his head was spinning from the pain. The girl slid down next to him.

"We can't keep going like this," she told him. "You're obviously jacked up, and I don't have a clue of where we're headed in the first place. And this f &*ing one-sided communication isn't working at all. Maybe if it was light outside…but even then, the best you could do is draw me a map to get help. And I don't know where the f#$* I am!"

He didn't bother to tell her to tone down the volume. Even pirates couldn't make this situation worse. That's when he heard the guns cock behind him, and he felt the tip of an assault rifle against the back of his neck. "F# &." It was going to be one of those days.

"Stand up," said the black-armored merc behind him.

"Sorry, but I'm having a little trouble with that at the moment," Wash replied. "Maybe if you come back tomorrow we can try and work something out."

"I said, stand!"

It was a struggle, but Wash did as he was told. The girl followed suit.

"Oh, shit. This one's that Freelancer," said one of the goons upon getting a closer look of Washington.

"Call Locus," ordered the man behind Wash, who was clearly in charge of this rabble. Looking around, Wash counted five of them in total. If not for the shrapnel in his side, he would have managed to take them out easy enough. But it and the girl meant he needed to be more cautious. The grunt headed up the hill to get a better signal.

With their ambushers more or less distracted, the girl leaned in close to Wash. "These are bad guys, right?" she whispered, surprisingly quietly. Washington nodded. "Are you alright?" she asked, in a way that implied she was questioning his readiness to move. To this, he nodded solemnly. For a moment, he thought she winked at him, then she leaned into the merc closest to her. "You don't have any water, do you?" she asked, almost flirtingly. The pirate was a little caught off guard. "Sorry, I guess I'm kinda your hostage. Weird thing to ask." The man coughed, trying to ignore how close she was getting to him. "It's just…I ran out back in the canyon, and it's, you know, been awhile."

"I thi—" his voice squeaked, and he cleared his throat, "—I think I can spare you some water…" He looked towards his leader, who was still perched menacingly behind Wash. Wash heard a grunt behind him, and then the lackey started ruffling through his pouches.

After a minute, the girl shifted her weight away from the grunt, and leaned back towards Wash. "It's alright if you don't have any. Really, I'm sure I'll be fine without."

"No. I'll find you some water." The pirate searched more frantically through his many pouches. After she let out a sadly pathetic sigh, he called over the two others that were standing around. They all huddled together, searching their gear for a canteen.

"Oh, for f *&'s sake," their leader huffed, exasperated. And for that brief moment, Wash could feel the weight lift off his neck.

"Now!" he yelled, ducking away from the rifle and then ripping it out of the pirate's hands. In one smooth motion, he tossed it to the girl and pulled out his own battle rifle. She caught it and fired at the leader's chest. He fell back forcefully, with a loud thud as his helmet hit the boulder behind. After three reports from Wash's gun, the grunts were all taken care of, their hands still riffling through their pouches.

For a moment, all was silent, and they looked at one another in relief. The sky was finally getting lighter, and for the first time that night, there was hope in the air. As the adrenaline started to fade, Wash was fully able to appreciate the splitting pain that was coming from his side. He started seeing tunnel vision just as he remembered there had been five pirates, not four. "The one on the hill!" he warned her, but she couldn't hear him. As if on cue, three more rounds fired off. In that split second, Wash managed to push the girl out of the way, taking two bullets to the chest in the process. Reflexively, she turned around and fired, taking out the last of the mercenaries. But not before Wash's body slumped to the ground.

"Oh God, no!" she crouched down next to him. "Washington!" she tried to wake him up, "Agent Washington!"

* * *

Tucker was exhausted. By now it'd been over twenty four hours since he last slept, and his fuming over Wash had been nothing if not taxing. Even Church had logged off to get some rest.

They were still perched in the western watchtower when the faint glimmer of dawn first touched the sky. Tucker noticed the change in brightness, and his heart skipped a beat. Church awoke to a loud bang, as Tucker's helmet collided with the wall and the aqua soldier yelled, "Dammit, Wash!"

Not twenty minutes later, the rest of the reds and blues had piled into warthogs and were making their way towards the badlands.

Agent Carolina drove the rest of blue team, with Caboose riding shotgun and Tucker in the back. Church had refused to let him drive, much to Tucker's chagrin. But after jumping back into Carolina's armor, he wondered if he wasn't being hypocritical, as he realized she hadn't slept either. Caboose on the other hand, was plenty rested, and wouldn't stop reminding them how excited he was to take Freckles out for a morning drive.

Grif followed closely behind them with the other reds. Despite Sarge's reservations, he had turned off their theme music; it was just too early for the blaring Mexican tune. Riding gunner, Simmons couldn't help but notice how unusually quiet everyone was being. It wasn't until that morning they'd learned of Wash's solo excursion, and that it must have been the reason behind Tucker's fowl mood. Simmons couldn't blame him. If it had been Sarge out on his own…actually, he really wouldn't have cared. But Wash was different; the kind of guy you didn't want to leave behind.

They were an hour or so in towards the direction of the crash site when Caboose first caught a glimpse of a dark, lone figure hobbling down the dusty road. Carolina sped up to meet it, with Grif hot on her tail. As they got closer, a girl in black-scorched armor and a missing helmet waved frantically to them.

* * *

Earlier that night, back when Wash was still attempting to talk with her, the girl from the crash site had heard him mention several times 'heads and twos.' Only now, as jeeps filled with colorfully armored soldiers approached her, did she realize he must have meant 'reds and blues.' Her head and heart were pounding as she waved her arms madly to try and flag them down. She hoped to God that these people really were his friends.

When they were in hearing distance, she screamed at them, "Agent Washington is down! Two kliks that way!" she pointed behind her. The pale blue driver nodded to her, not bothering to stop. The second jeep yielded next to her, and the red soldiers hopped out. Whatever they were saying, she couldn't hear. When the one in gold approached her, and she collapsed in his arms.


	3. Chapter 3: The Girl From the Crash Site

The girl from the crash site opened her eyes abruptly. The room around her was so bright, she couldn't help but blink.

"Where am I?" she asked, but it came out as little more than a whisper, her mouth was so dry. She thought she heard noises, but they were dull, as if from a dream. But as her eyes adjusted to the lights, she saw that she was in a medical bay. There were six beds in total in this ward, and she was in the one farthest from the doors at the end of the room. Of the three beds across the way, two were empty. The middle one however, was occupied by a soldier with a broken leg suspended in front of him and a breathing apparatus around his face. He was being treated by someone in light brown and purple armor.

She turned her head to the right and saw there was another empty bed between hers and the patient's closest to the doors. But it was hard to see who was in that far one, as they were surrounded by soldiers in various shades of blue. Another attendant was with them, only this one had white armor with purple accents. She seemed to be gesturing to the blues excitedly, but the girl from the crash couldn't hear.

Squinting, she realized there was something familiar about those blues. She was on the verge of remembering when she felt a hand touch her shoulder. Starting with fright, she swung her head around, only to find that there was a golden soldier sitting to her left.

"Whoa! Who are you?!" she put up her fist defensively.

"- -'m Gri- -," she managed to make out, although it was hard for her to hear him.

"Grip?"

"N- - - - rif!"

Ugh, she thought, then threw out a shot in the dark, "Grif?"

He nodded. "- -o ar- - ou?"

"I can't hear you," she sighed, not even bothering to try anymore.

The man in gold stood and yelled across the way, and they were soon joined by the excited doctor. She could tell that two began a moving conversation, as their heads bobbed up and down whenever they spoke. After trying and failing to follow who was talking and when, she eventually gave up and returned her gaze to the patient by the door. By now, all of the blues were stirring and glancing over her way. The one in aqua armor had had his back turned to her, but when he noticed the others perk up, he turned as well. That's when she caught glimpse of a dark grey helmet with yellow accents on it resting by the bed.

All of a sudden, the memories came back in a flash. First the crash; then waking up to Agent Washington. They had walked for a long time, but then there were men in black and… Oh no.

She sat up in her bed, despite the pain she felt in the back of her head. Touching the doctor's arm, she asked, "Is that Washington? Is he alright?"

The doctor pushed her gently back down into her pillows, but she couldn't stay that way. She needed to know that he was alright. Fighting to sit up again, she saw that the blues were standing, trying to see what the commotion was. "Please," she begged the doctor, "Is Agent Washington okay?" She felt Grif grip her shoulder and she turned to look at him. He had his hand up, gesturing for her to calm down. His head was bobbing up and down again, but she couldn't hear a damn thing he said.

"I can't hear you!" she said, frustratedly. It was like a bad dream she couldn't wake up from.

She forced her way out of Grif's grip, and attempted to get past the doctor, but she only opened herself up to be pushed back down again.

"Please! I just need to know he's okay!" she begged them.

One of the blues came over; the driver from before. They came and took the place of the doctor, reassuringly putting their hand on her all while keeping her pinned. All of a sudden, a little blue man popped up on their shoulder. They nodded to it, and then it zoomed straight for her head.

* * *

She was back in the flames. The plane had crashed and she was stuck. Her head was pounding and she was trying to remember something… What was it? She had started to panic and thrash when a white-gloved hand reached through the windshield and pulled her out.

Everything went white. And now she found herself standing in a vast nothingness.

"Hello?" she called out, and it echoed.

"Hey, there," she heard a voice behind her.

She turned around to see a soldier in white armor. He was holding a long sniper rifle in his hands, and his head was cocked to the side, looking at her curiously. Casually, he swung the rifle over his shoulder, and he approached her.

"Where are we?" she asked, looking around at the blankness uncomfortably.

"We're in your head," he answered.

"But there's nothing here…"

"I wasn't gonna mention it, but…yeah. That is pretty weird."

"Wait, who are you?"

"Oh, me? I'm Church," he held out his hand.

She shook it. "I'm…" she tried to remember, but she only found herself back in the flaming cockpit. Church had to pull her back into the white, where she collapsed to her knees. "I don't know who I am," she whispered defeatedly.

"Hey, it's fine," he told her gently.

"It is not fine!" she snapped back at him. "I literally woke up to falling out of the f# *ing sky! And, as if that's not bad enough, I can't hear either? Seriously?! Like, what the f* &?!"

"Okay, so maybe it's not fine…"

"You're damned right, it's not!"

"But, take it from someone who remembers everything…forgetting isn't always a bad thing."

She stood and wiped a tear from her eye. "That's lovely. Lovely sentiment from…what the hell are you? And why are we in my head?!" She started looking around again.

"I'm an AI unit called Epsilon. I came in through your neural implant, which was surprisingly still intact. Basically, I'm here to translate, if that's cool with you. At least until Doctor Grey can whip you up a hearing aid."

"Wait, so you can tell me what's going on?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Thank God," she sighed in relief. Then she thought about it. "Can you do it in real life? Or are we stuck in this place?"

"Oh, yeah! I just thought I'd come and introduce myself. You know, get a lay of the land."

"What is that supposed to mean? Are you trying to psychoanalyze me?"

"No!" he said defensively. "Maybe a little. But only to make sure you're not hostile or whatever…" He trailed off after that.

"Well…I guess that's alright. Not like there's anything in here anyways."

Church looked down at his feet awkwardly.

"Sooo….Can we leave now?" she asked.

He nodded.

* * *

She reawakened, and everything became distorted again. Muffled voices seemed to echo in her head, and she wondered if her interaction with Church was just a dream. Then the little blue glowing man popped up on her lap.

At this point, her whole bed was surrounded, and she noted that the darker blue had migrated from Washington to stand by Grif. His head was bobbing continually, and she almost thought she could make out his voice. Was he talking about ghosts? Seriously, what the—

"Shut up, Caboose!" she heard Church's voice and nearly jumped out of her seat.

"Whoa! Why can I hear you?"

Church turned around to face her. "I'm relaying what I'm saying into your head in real time. You aren't really hearing me, but your brain thinks you are, if that makes any sense."

She nodded. Then to clarify, "So, everyone here can hear you."

"Exactly."

She breathed deeply. "Okay,"

All of a sudden, the rest of the group's heads started bobbing.

"Oh my—Would you all shut up?! One at a time, for f *&'s sake!" Church began to yell at them. But the nodding up and down just became more impassioned. Soon Church was bickering with the lot of them. Meanwhile, her mind wandered.

She looked back over towards Washington. He wouldn't be here if he wasn't alive, but…still. The aqua armored blue was the only one left by his side. For a brief moment they made eye contact, and she looked away, embarrassed. The next thing she knew, he was coming over to join the rest.

Upon his presence, all but Caboose stopped and turned to listen to him.

Church nodded then turned to her, "He wants to know what happened to Wash,"

"He pulled me out of the wreck just before a fuel line burst. The shrapnel in his side is from the explosion. The gunshot wounds came from black-armored soldiers. They ambushed us on the way to the road," she explained. "Church…is he okay?" She felt like she'd been asking without a response for ages. Agent Washington had saved her life twice; she needed to know.

The AI hesitated in answering, "He's…he's not okay. He's in a coma."

She looked up at the doctor, "What does that mean exactly?"

"She says it means it's taking his body a little longer to recover," Church translated for her.

"But he will recover, right?"

"It's too soon to tell," Church told her, and she could feel the atmosphere of the room shift uncomfortably.

* * *

Grif was the first to speak after that. "Ask her what her name is," he ordered.

"She doesn't know," Church replied.

"How would you know?"

"Because I've been in her head! There's literally nothing in there!"

"You do know I'm sitting right here," the girl commented.

"What was she doing out there?" Tucker asked.

"What part of 'She doesn't know.' do you not understand?"

"Well, she has to've remembered something," Carolina pointed out.

"She remembers the crash-"

"Why don't you let her speak for herself? Aren't you only supposed to be translating?" Grif asked, annoyed by Church's run around.

"Fine," Church turned to her. "They want to know everything you remember."

"There was an explosion. When I came to, my plane was on fire and I was falling out of the sky. I tried ejecting, but the seat malfunctioned. I remember skidding into a cliff face, and that's it. At least until Agent Washington woke me up."

"What did I tell you?" Church asked everyone. "Jack shit."

"Ask her if she wants to join red team," Grif told him. They all turned to look at the orange soldier.

"Seriously?" Tucker asked.

Grif shrugged, "What? We never get girls on our team."

"And that's a bad thing?" For that, Tucker received an elbow to the gut from Carolina.

"What are you talking about? You guys have Donut," Church told him.

"Oh, come on! You know it's not the same! It's like having all the boring stuff without any of the perks."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Carolina defensively.

"I think you know what it means! Bow chicka bow w-oof!" Tucker received another elbowing.

"Dude, she has amnesia," Church said protectively.

"Oh, it's not like I'm gonna do anything to her! I'm just saying, it might be nice to have a girl around for a change."

"I'd reconsider," said Caboose. "You don't want to catch amnesia."

"You can't catch amnesia!" Church yelled at him.

"What the hell are you all talking about?!" the girl yelled in exasperation. "Church, you are by far the worst translator in human history!"

"Oh, how would you know?" he snipped back.

That's when she gave him the glare to end all glares. The anger that resonated from her brow caused everyone around her to unconsciously lean away. Even the man with the broken leg across the room shifted uneasily in his bed. Caboose disappeared completely.

The AI shivered. "Sorry," he whispered back fearfully. "I'll try and do better."

The girl from the crash huffed, and her face went back at ease. The whole room breathed a sigh of relief. "Please, just try to clue me in on what's being said? It's really all I ask."

Church nodded. "Uh, Grif here," he pointed, "wants to know if you want to join red team."

"What does red team do?" she asked Grif.

He shrugged. "Pretty much, nothing."

After Church repeated for her, she nodded. "Sounds fine to me."

* * *

Felix walked back and forth behind Locus who stood stoic as ever, his arms folded across his chest. "Would you stop that ungodly pacing?" he complained gruffly.

"No, I will not. Thank you very much!" Felix retorted. His hands were fidgeting at his sides as he crossed the room again. "Five KIA? What the hell were they even doing out there?" he fumed.

"That doesn't matter now," Locus growled. "What matters is that the stage is set."

"'The stage is set,'" Felix repeated mockingly. "Who even talks like that? Oh, and by the way, your f*&$ing stage sucks! This whole thing is going to blow up in our faces."

"As far as I'm concerned, it's already working in our favor. Given enough time, we'll have more than we need to crush the United Armies of Chorus…and the simulation troopers."

Felix stopped and pointed his knife threateningly at his partner, "We better, or it's on you."


	4. Chapter 4: The Deal

Doctor Grey had just finished showing the girl from the crash how to adjust her new hearing aids, and they were both utterly relieved at the idea of not having to spend more time together. Grey had discovered that for the most part, the girl was a calm and amicable patient; she understood her situation and dealt with it as well as Dr. Grey imagined anyone would. However, the longer they spent together, the more the doctor noticed that she displayed some rather odd nervous ticks.

First of all, the girl really liked to hum. But what caught Grey off guard, was that she started doing it even while she was talking to her.

"Would you mind not humming while I'm trying to speak with you?" she would ask in her singsong voice.

"What?"

Grey sighed, then repeated more clearly, "Please. Don't. Hum."

The girl would stare at her strangely. "I'm not humming."

"Yes you-" Grey started, but was interrupted by her humming.

Secondly, she would notice the girl seemingly staring blankly at the ceiling. But when she attempted to get her attention, the girl would throw a fit.

"Can't you see I'm counting?!" she would yell.

Grey looked back up at the ceiling. It was completely blank; there weren't even tiles to count. "What are you-"

"Gah! Again?"

The thing that got Grey the most though, was that she would unconsciously re-appropriate historical quotes as her own.

"Ask not what your doctor can do for you;" she would start before turning, dramatically looking into Grey's eyes, "ask what you can do for your doctor!"

"Kennedy?" Grey would suggest hopefully.

"How the hell would I know?"

Needless to say, after four hours of physicals, blood tests, hearing tests, and configuring the aid, Grey was at her wits end.

Finally she asked, "Can you hear me now?"

"I can! I can totally hear you!" The girl lit up and gave her an awkward high five. "That sucked! But it's cool. Are we done here?"

Grey nodded. "Come in for a check-up tomorrow morning at eight. Until then, you're free to go!" she said happily.

"Sweet! Catch you on the flip side, Doc!" she waved and left the medibay.

The minute she was out of hearing range, Dr. Grey screamed away her frustrations at the top of her lungs. She had no more patients for the rest of the day.

* * *

Tucker rarely left Wash's side since they'd picked him up in the badlands. Ever since he'd lost the majority of his platoon, he'd been more conscious of mortality in war. Now more than anything, Tucker didn't want Wash to die. Not just because he was his friend, but because he knew he wouldn't be able to live with himself if the last thing Wash heard from him was"'F *& you, dude."

What frustrated him the most about this whole situation was that he didn't know who to blame. Wash had been a stubborn jerk, and Tucker hadn't been any better; but in the end his thoughts always found their way back to _her_.

Around base everyone kept talking about "the girl from the crash site;" how Washington had risked his life for her, and how she was seemingly "in" with the reds and blues now. Almost everywhere he went, he was confronted by people wanting to know more about her and what her connection to Agent Washington was. In the end it was Carolina who told everyone to f#$^ off and leave him alone.

But Tucker's reputation as a notorious skirt chaser hadn't helped in this matter either. He dreaded going back to his bunk each night, as people would make snide remarks whenever he came close. "Is she hot?" they'd ask jokingly. "On a scale of 1 to 10, how hard would you hit that?"

The truth was that this was one skirt he wasn't looking to chase. She wasn't a woman at all to him, she was just the person that might be responsible for getting his friend killed.

So on this night of nights, as visitors were asked to leave the medibay, Tucker couldn't help but feel the knot in his chest tighten. "Hang in there, buddy," he whispered to his comatose friend before leaving.

He hadn't gotten very far when he heard someone behind him call his name. Completely put-out, he just yelled, "F#*& off!"

"Captain Tucker!" the voice rang out clearer this time.

He cringed. "Shit, I messed up," he muttered before turning to face Kimball. "Hey there! Didn't...didn't know it was you…" he trailed off half-apologetically.

"It's fine," she told him. "You've been under a lot of stress lately, I get it."

He rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. "So...what can I do for you?"

"I wanted to talk. About the crash. About the girl."

"Okay…"

"Come with me to my office," she waved him over so they could walk together.

* * *

"You did what?!" Sarge yelled at Grif.

"I don't see what the problem is," he responded coolly.

"You asked a girl to be on red team?" Simmons remarked nervously. "What were you thinking?"

"Are the feminine wiles of Donut not enough for you?!" Sarge continued to yell.

"Oh, come on! You know it's not the same! I'm talking about an actual woman here! We've never had one of those!" Grif whined.

"Yeah," Simmons' voice cracked, "Maybe there's a reason for that."

"Simmons is right!" Sarge agreed, "Name the last time we ever had a good experience involving a woman!"

"Well, Carolina-"

"Dragged our asses around for months on some fool mission!"

"But she's-"

"A dirty blue!"

"Okay, okay! Fine. But, I'm telling you, this girl is different!" Grif protested.

"How would you even know?" asked Simmons. "Didn't she just wake up yesterday?"

"Look, I know how it sounds, but I just have this feeling…"

"Is it comin' from yer nethers?" Sarge asked gruffly.

"What? Oh God, no! Nothing like that!"

"Dude, Sarge is right. You totally have a crush on her."

"I do not!"

"Do too!"

"I do not!"

"Do too!"

"Can it! Both of you! Captain Grif, aside from the fact that she's a female, what makes you think we can trust her?"

"She has amnesia! Think about it: a total clean slate. There's nothing not to trust!"

"I'm not sure that makes sense," Simmons thought aloud.

Sarge grunted. "I'm calling it," he said, "Veto!"

"What?! You can't veto this!"

"I think you're forgetting, son: I outrank you! And I call veto!"

"But that's not-" Grif started to protest before he was interrupted by Simmons.

"Grif, I have to agree with Sarge on this. Having a girl on the team is a bad idea. So...technically, we're both kind of outvoting you."

"WHAT?! Simmons, you f#&$ing kiss-ass!"

"Hey! You know I have a hard time talking to women!"

"I can't believe-you know what? Scratch that! I can totally f#&^ing believe this. Here I am, actually _trying_ to be proactive, (what the hell was I thinking?) and you guys go and mess it all up!"

"Normally, I'd applaud the initiative," Sarge told him, "but giving a hoot doesn't make up for faulty decision making skills!"

"Like you're one to talk…" Grif grumbled under his breath. He huffed angrily before found his resolve. "Fine," he told Sarge. "I'll make you a deal."

"A deal? What could you possibly have to-"

"The girl gets a spot on red team," Grif continued. "And if she doesn't work out…" he hesitated, "then I'll go too."

"Grif, no! What are you doing?" Simmons interjected.

Sarge looked him up and down. "You mean to tell me, that if and when this whole deal goes south, you'll walk away? I'll never have to see you again?"

Simmons shook his head, pleading, "Don't do it, Grif!"

Grif mustered up his courage, then answered, "Yes."

"Deal!" Sarge answered eagerly. "Well," he said happily, "this just made my day!" He left with a disturbing bounce in his step.

"What were you thinking?!" Simmons yelled. As much as he annoyed him, Simmons didn't know what he would do without him. "All of that, just for a girl you don't even know?!"

"Look, I…" Grif shook his head. Even he was having a hard time justifying this in his mind. "Hey," he said nervously, "What's the worst that could happen? I get kicked off of red team? So what? I never wanted to be here in the first place." And with that, he departed as well, leaving Simmons alone in the men's room.

* * *

"What we are about to discuss doesn't leave this room," Kimball told Tucker after he'd taken a seat across from her desk. "Do you understand?"

"Uh, yeah," Tucker agreed, somewhat intrigued. "Is there some spy shit going on?"

Kimball sighed, "Two weeks ago, what we believed to be a small jump-ship crash landed in the badlands under suspicious circumstances."

"Suspicious circumstances? I thought we took it down?" Tucker asked, confused.

"Our missiles did. But no one here gave the go ahead. At first we thought it was a systems glitch: radar detected the bogey and missiles were subsequently triggered to fire. We've had problems with the launch system before, so I didn't think much of it...at first.

"Regardless, I sent maintanence in to do a check-up; fix the glitch. Instead, they found this," she handed him a device the size of a large coin.

"What is it?" Tucker flipped it around to see it had a small, blinking purple light in its center.

"I've been told it's a short-range remote activation device."

"So, someone hacked your missiles."

Kimball leaned back in her seat. "The device itself isn't what disturbs me. You know we've had our fair share of sabotage, and the ordinance is old; it could have been placed months ago. No, what gets me is the range. Whoever set off those missiles had to've been within thirty meters of the device."

"Um...is that...uh-"

"That's really really close, Tucker."

He coughed, "Oh. Okay. So..."

"So," she said pointedly, "Carolina's been covering security ever since she got here. I don't think even Locus could slip through her defenses-"

"Bow chicka...ooh, never mind."

"And that means that whoever set off this device is…"

"Gay?"

"...One of us."

"Oh f#$*! You're talking about...traitory? Treachery? Tretchatory?"

"A traitor in our midst; a mole."

Tucker nervously touched the handle of his energy sword. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you're the only person I trust."

He looked her dead in the eye, "Seriously?"

"Tucker, you risked your life to save my men. And you and your friends have done more to help Chorus than we've done to help ourselves. So yes, I trust you."

"Okay," he nodded. "What do you need me to do?"

She sat up in her seat. "I need you to find the mole. And I need you to figure out why they wanted that ship to crash."

He shifted restlessly in his seat. "That's kind of a tall order, don't you think?"

"Of course it is. But I have faith you can handle it."

* * *

When she left Grey's office, she found that Grif had been waiting for her outside. She came up and smiled at him.

"So... can you hear me now?" he asked awkwardly.

"Sure can," she replied. Then she said thoughtfully, "You know, your voice is more high-pitched than I thought it would be."

"It is?!" he squeaked. "I mean," he coughed and then repeated deeply, "it is?"

She laughed at him. "I'm just messing with you!"

He sighed. "Cool. I mean...yeah."

"Wanna show me around?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah! You hungry?"

"What?"

"Are you hungry?"

"What?"

He hesitated, "Are you hungry?" he said more clearly.

She frowned, and then shoved her finger in her ear. "Mother-okay, try it again?"

He sighed, "Are you hungry?"

She just shrugged.

Oh man, he thought, what have I done?

"Do you have any cheez-whiz?" she asked.

Well, he reconsidered, maybe she won't be that bad.


	5. Chapter 5: The Mission

Grif took the girl from the crash site to the chow hall first. He was relatively popular there; at least in the sense that everyone knew exactly who he was. Bursting through the swinging double doors, he stepped inside and struck a triumphant pose. "What up, b #$^es?" he called out before the doors swung back and knocked him off his feet.

He reentered a moment later, a little less gloriously, and he waved for her to follow him. Heeding closely behind, she couldn't help but notice the icy glares that fell on her guide from around the cafeteria. The worst came from the servers behind the glass.

"What are you doing here?" one of them asked as Grif approached. They folded their arms over their chest indignantly.

"Just showing the new girl around," Grif told them. She stepped beside him and waved to the servers.

"Who's this?" asked a second server.

"She's…" Grif started, then looked at her. She shrugged, not knowing what to tell him. "She's the girl from the crash site."

"Oh! I heard about that," said the first server. "Ain't that what put Agent Washington in a coma?"

She shuffled her feet uncomfortably. It was hard for her not to feel a little responsible for Wash's current state, but that didn't mean she liked the idea of people blaming her for it.

Luckily Grif read her mood and stepped in, "Well, technically it was getting shot in the chest by pirates that did that, but, you know, whatever."

"Hey, I meant nothin' by it," the server insisted.

"S'just that with Wash out of commision, they got Carolina runnin' training drills," the second explained.

"What?!" Grif was taken aback. "Seriously?"

They nodded.

"Oh, you poor bastards," Grif shook his head.

"Who's Carolina?" the girl asked.

"Just the toughest b#&^ in the whole f &^ing army!" the second server put in his two cents. "Speakin' a which, she's been lookin' for you, Grif."

A shiver ran down his spine at the words. "Really? Why?"

The guy just shrugged.

"Well, she's just gonna have to wait," he told himself more than anyone else. "I mean, really: the one time I'm actually doing something!"

"Is that a good idea?" the girl asked. "If this chick is really as mean as you say…"

"Ha!" they heard a voice behind them. "This 'chick' is much worse."

Grif and the girl from the crash site turned around slowly. The two servers vanished from sight.

"Oh! Hey there, Carolina," Grif's voice went shrill. "We were just talking about you."

"Hey, I know you!" the girl pointed. "In the medibay, Church was with you!" She smiled proudly to herself upon successfully recognizing the freelancer.

"Perceptive," Carolina said sarcastically.

The girl frowned. "You don't have to be mean about it," she huffed.

"What do you want, Carolina?" Grif changed the subject.

"You and the rest of the reds have a mission briefing in an hour, and since Wash isn't around at the moment, that is now my job," she said the last bit through gritted teeth.

"Oh man, that sucks!" Grif complained. "Why are we going on a mission anyways? We just went on one!"

"What do you mean? Are you talking about picking up this one?" Carolina pointed to the girl. "That wasn't a mission!"

"Yeah it was! I drove the jeep and everything."

"Leaving base and coming right back is not a mission; that's just going out for a drive." Carolina argued.

"Oh, whatever," Grif gave in. He was too lazy to keep arguing for long. "Wait a minute! If you're doing all of Wash's jobs, who's doing yours?" he asked.

"What's her job?" the girl asked curiously. They both turned to look at her.

"She carries Church around," replied Grif. "Right?"

"Excuse me?" Carolina sounded offended. "You think my only job is to carry Church?"

"...No…You're also a badass?"

"Damn right, I'm a badass," she mumbled to herself before turning to go. "Oh," she paused, turning back, "Kimball wanted me to tell you she's granting your request. Welcome to Red Team, uh...what do we call you?"

The girl thought for a minute. She didn't have a single notion of what her name was, and she wasn't exactly good at coming up with stuff on the spot. "Call me…" she trailed off, still thinking. "Crrr-aa-shhhhh," she absentmindedly sounded it out.

"What was that?" Grif asked what both he and Carolina were thinking.

"Crash," she said, nodding to herself decisively.

"Crash. Really?" Carolina asked dispassionately.

"What? You all got funny names, so don't look at me like that! It's not like everyone doesn't call me 'the girl from the crash site' anyways. Now, next time someone asks me who I am, I'll just say, 'Crash,' and it'll be self-explanatory. No more questions, no more confusion."

"No, we get it," Grif explained. "It's just not very original."

"Dude, I have close to literally nothing in my head. So don't start me with that 'it's not original' bullshit. Every damn thought I think is f#*&ing original!" she yelled. The rest of the chow hall stopped to look at her. She quieted and then scratched her head awkwardly. "Apparently I lost all my inhibitions as well as my memory."

Grif patted her on the shoulder. "It's okay, buddy. It happens to the best of us."

She sighed sarcastically, and then looked deep into his eyes, "Thanks, Grif. I really needed that."

He played along, "Well, I'm here for you. And don't you forget it!"

Then they embraced dramatically.

"What the hell am I looking at?" asked Carolina, a little mortified.

"Shut up, Carolina! Can't you see we're bonding?" Grif fake cried before tightening their hug.

Without another word, Carolina left the chow hall.

"Is she gone?" Grif asked.

"Yeah, it looks like."

They released each other and high-fived.

"Did you see the look on her face? That was awesome!" Crash laughed.

"Man, I love messing with people," Grif added, contented.

Someone at a nearby table coughed and they realized everyone else was still watching them. "Do I have something on my f#*&ing face?" Crash yelled at them, putting her fists on her hips threateningly. They all returned to eating and she chuckled at them.

"Ya know, you're kinda scary," Grif told her, "but not in a bad way."

"Were you hungry?" she asked him.

"If there's one thing you should know about me, it's this: I'm always hungry. But let's get out of here. I think we've overstayed our welcome."

She nodded, and followed him out another set of doors.

* * *

"Look, I'm done," said the figure in the darkness. "I've done everything you asked me to do. And you said you were gonna pay me, but so far, I've got nothing. I just can't keep doing this for you." He continued to ramble.

Finally Locus interrupted him. "I believe you're confusing me for someone who cares. Let me make this clear," he grabbed the figure by the throat. "You don't have a choice in the matter," he growled before releasing the man.

He fell to his knees and touched his neck tenderly. "This isn't what I signed on for," he managed to cough out.

Locus squatted down in front of him so he could look him in the eye. "No. You wanted to make a quick buck. But that's not how war works. You're a real soldier now, and real soldiers complete their missions. You'll get your pay when it's over." Locus stood back up, so that he now looked down upon the man.

"You don't get it," the man groaned, "people are starting to take a closer look at what's really going on. I can't risk them finding out what I've-"

Locus kicked him in the side of the head, knocking him unconscious. Then he nodded to one of his underlings who was standing by the jeep, "Make sure he gets back to his base."

* * *

Tucker sat next to Wash, his foot bouncing nervously. He'd been on edge before Kimball tasked him with finding the mole; now he felt like he'd crossed a line into complete panic. It didn't matter how still he sat or how deeply he tried to breathe, he couldn't escape the drumming in his chest.

"How the hell am I supposed to find the mole?" he whispered to Wash. "I'm more the dashing rogue type, not a f *&ing spy!"

He buried his face in the pillows by Wash's shoulder. "This sucks," he said, his voice muffled by the fluff.

"Wow," he heard Church start, "You look f*&#ing terrible, man."

Tucker sighed and lifted his head from the pillows. He was surprised to see Church by himself. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Same thing you are, I guess," Church muttered, looking at Wash. "How is he?"

"Hmm, let me see...Oh, right. Still in a f *#ing coma!"

"Gah! Would you stop!" Church snapped back, "Everyone gets it, Washington's your pal! Could you stop bitching about it for one f#*&ing second?!"

Tucker glared at the AI.

"Don't give me that! You know you've been acting weird since this whole thing started!"

"So what?"

"What do you mean, so what? So, I'm supposed to be the angry one around here! And you're supposed to be the pervy one! That's how this works!"

"I don't know if you realize this, Church, but we are not in Blood Gulch anymore! We don't get to have designated roles. We don't get to stand around all day and make jokes at the reds. This is a real f *&ing war now. When people die, they stay dead! So excuse me for not following your f *^ing system."

"I thought it was _our_ f*#$ing system," Church said defeatedly.

"It hasn't been ours since you left," Tucker grumbled.

Churched paused for a moment, "Holy shit. That's what this is about, isn't it?"

"What are you-"

"You're still mad at me for going off with Carolina!"

"I never said-"

"You have got to be kidding me!"

"Dude, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Admit it."

"Admit what?"

"Admit that the reason you're so upset is because Wash left you just like I did."

"Seriously?" Tucker asked, astonished. "That's what you're getting out of this?"

"Well, I-"

"No no no," Tucker shook his head angrily. "It's my turn to talk, you self-centered asshole! Did you even stop to consider that not everything is about you?!"

"I-"

"No, you didn't. Because you're Church, the most important guy in the whole f &^ing universe!

"You want to know the truth, the honest to God truth? Well, here it is: I'm mad that pirates put a hole in my friend, and I wasn't around to stab them!"

Church looked down.

"You f#*&ing narcissist," Tucker whispered before he buried his head back into Wash's bed.

"You know what, Tucker? I'm sorry for giving a crap. Trust me, it won't happen again."

When Tucker lifted his head back up, Church was gone. He sighed frustratedly, wondering if Church might've actually been right.

* * *

The rest of the reds had all gathered in the briefing room. Simmons pouted, his head in his hands as he watched the door. Donut sat with Lopez across from him, unconsciously nodding along to a song in his head. Lopez was still in his seat, muttering to himself in Spanish. Carolina stood at the head of the table, glowering down at them while Sarge waited anxiously by Lopez.

"Where are those two!" Sarge finally asked disdainfully.

"Grif's lazy, but he's usually not this late," added Simmons.

"Maybe they'll slip on in, right in the knick of time!" Donut suggested optimistically.

"Please, shut up," Simmons whimpered.

"Just start without them, you idiots," said Lopez in Spanish.

"You're right, Lopez," Sarge nodded, "Grif is a dirtbag!"

"I hate my life," Lopez replied.

Carolina sighed impatiently. "If they're not here in the next two minutes we'll have to start without-"

She was interrupted by the back door swinging open. Grif and Crash came in, panting.

"Sorry," she said between breaths. "Lost track of time!" she explained.

Grif stood behind her, gasping for air. "Yeah," he wheezed, "that's totally what happened," he affirmed.

What really happened:

"It's getting late," Grif told her, "We should probably start heading to that mission briefing."

"Ooh! I'll race you there!" she said excitedly before dashing away.

"Wait!" he called after her, "You don't know where you're going! The briefing room is this way!" She was already out of hearing range.

They looked at each other knowingly.

"Well, take a seat," Carolina told them. Sarge grunted disapprovingly.

"As you all know, Wash is still out of action, which means we're all responsible for picking up the slack. And, since none of you are qualified to train anyone, that means you get to take over my field missions."

"Aw man!" Grif complained.

"Can it!" Sarge ordered.

For once, Grif did as he was told, figuring he'd caused more than enough trouble already.

"Now that you've got a new addition," she nodded to Crash, "you'll be splitting into two teams of three."

"Who's on what team?" Simmons asked, glancing nervously at the girl.

"Sarge will let you know at the end of the briefing," Carolina answered. The reds could decide their own team structure; she wasn't going to touch it with a ten foot pole.

"The first team," she continued, "will be heading back to the crash site. We need to find out what you were doing in our airspace," she told Crash.

The girl nodded, realizing for the first time that she might not've been there for a good reason.

"Team two will be responsible for guarding a convoy that's heading to the capital tomorrow. Orders are to protect the cargo at all costs."

"What's the cargo?" Grif asked.

"Unknown. But the orders come from Doyle himself, so whatever it is is probably important.

"It's a three day journey to the capital," she told them, "but based on enemy traffic patterns, we're not expecting much resistance. The crash site is a different story. Ever since that ship went down, pirates have been swarming into the badlands. It's most likely you'll have to take out an outpost or two just to get the site, and even then, we're not sure how intact the scene will be."

"Um…" Donut started, "If the crash site is really that hard to get to, is it necessary for us to go there?"

"I don't know," Carolina turned to the girl, "Is it?"

"Yes," Crash answered solemnly. "If there's even a chance of finding out who I am…"

"Well, that settles it," Sarge took over. "Simmons and Grif, you'll go with Lopez to cover that convoy. Meanwhile, me and Donut with go with the new girl to the crash site!"

"It's Crash," Grif told him.

"That's what I said, we'll be going to the crash!"

"No, she's going by Crash now," Grif clarified.

They all looked over at the girl.

"Seriously?" Simmons asked.

"What a stupid name," Lopez said dryly.

"I like it!" Donut chimed in. "Short, and right to the point!"

Sarge shook his head. "Well Crash, you're with us." Then he addressed everyone, "For now, everyone get some shut-eye. We'll go over the plan of attack tomorrow morning at 0800."


	6. Chapter 6: The Reds

She had a hard time sleeping that night. After Grif showed her where she'd be staying, she grabbed the clothes they'd left for her and tried to settle in. It was odd though; to be in a room full of things that weren't your own. She sat on her cot and looked at her hands. There was a long, thin scar stretching from her palm to her forearm. Touching it, she imagined cutting it on a piece of barbed wire while trying to get over a fence. Then she wondered if that was something that actually happened, or if she'd made it up in her head.

She laid down on her side, curling her legs in close to her chest and listening to the sound of her own breathing. What is real? she asked herself worriedly, tears gathering in her eyes.

No, she thought. Crying is for people who have given up. She forced herself to stand, and then fell forward into pushup position. Then she went down.

One. Your name is Crash.

Two. You're on Red Team.

Three. Washington saved your life.

Four. You killed two pirates.

Five. Grif is your friend.

Six. You like popcorn.

She stopped. I like popcorn? She thought about it. Yeah, popcorn is good.

Seven. Church sucks at communicating.

Eight. Carolina is mean.

Nine. You could be a bad guy…

She stopped again. You don't know that. Think about the things you know.

Nine...what's nine? You are female.

Ten. Uh...llamas are weird?

Eleven. You are 70% deaf in your left ear.

Twelve. You are 90% deaf in your right.

Thirteen. You will have to wear hearing aids for the rest of your life.

Fourteen. Doctor Grey is annoying.

Fifteen. You don't know who you are.

Sixteen. That last one was depressing.

Seventeen. It doesn't have to be.

Eighteen. You are strong enough to get through this.

Nineteen. You've been given a second chance.

Twenty. You will make it count.

She rested on her elbows, a little out of breath. What the hell? she thought, rolling onto her back. Twenty pushups should not be that hard. She flexed her arm and felt her bicep. Then she frowned, thinking, I'm really out of shape.

Feeling a little more optimistic about things in general, she crawled back into her bunk and snuggled into her blankets. She was going to have to wake up extra early the next day to pick up her armor; might as well try to sleep.

* * *

Crash awoke around 0500 to the sound of yelling outside the barracks. The lieutenants were getting hounded by Carolina while doing their morning drills.

"Pick up the pace, ladies!" she yelled at them.

"Yes, ma'am!" Smith called back, pushing forward.

"I," huff, "don't," huff, "think I," huff, "can do this!" Jensen hobbled on.

Palomo was right behind her. "Come on guys! We can do this!"

Bitters had fallen far back behind them, barely jogging at all. Carolina was right on his heels, yelling as they went, "Move it, Bitters!" He continued at a snail's pace, all while grumbling.

Getting up, Crash took a shower and got dressed. After, she changed out her bandages in the way Grey had instructed. The one on the back of her head proved to be difficult however. After ten minutes of struggling to set it just right, she finally gave up and resolved to go find help.

Of course, the only person she really knew was Grif, so she headed up a few floors to where he said his room was.

She found room 420 and went to knock, but then wondered if it might a little early to disturb anyone. As she reconsidered, someone stepped out of the room next door. It was the maroon soldier she'd seen at the mission brief the night before. He was just as surprised to see her as she was him, and in his excitement, he turned around to go back inside his room.

"Hold up!" she told him, waving.

He groaned nervously before turning back to greet her, "Oh," he started, "Erm...I-hey. Um, I-oh. Hi." He looked down at the ground and then up at the ceiling; at anything but her.

"Hi!" she held out her hand, "I'm Crash."

He took her hand awkwardly and released it almost immediately. "Mmmimmins" he mumbled nearly inaudibly.

At first she wondered if her hearing aids were out of whack again. "What was that?"

He cleared his throat, "I'm Simmons."

"Hey! Grif mentioned you! He said you were a nerd!"

"Course he did. F#& ing jerk," he grumbled.

"Hey, I know this is weird, but do you think you could help me? I've been trying to get this bandage on, but I can't really see what I'm doing. You know, 'cause it's on the back of my head? Yeah…" she trailed off.

"I…" he didn't know what to say. "Um, sure?"

"Sweet!" she nodded, waiting for him to invite her in.

He didn't get the hint though, and they spent the next two minutes staring at each other in silence.

"Are we gonna-?" she pointed to his room. "Or, we can head back to my place, or…"

"Come in?" he finally asked.

She smiled pleasantly at him. "Thanks!"

He opened the door back up for her and followed her inside before closing it again.

At first glance, she was surprised by how organized the maroon man was. His bed was neatly made and there was a short bookshelf next to it full of Red Army Handbooks as well as science fiction novels. A banjo was neatly hung by the window.

"Do you play?" she asked, pointing to it.

Simmons winced at her voice, already dreading his response. "I, um...yes. Yes!" He coughed, embarrassed.

"Far out," she nodded. "So, you got a place to sit down?"

"Oh! Right…" He pulled the chair away from his desk. "Uh, there's more light in the bathroom, if you wanna…go in there…"

She almost commented on his ability to form a coherent sentence, but thought better of it. "That sounds like good idea."

Following him into the bathroom, she plopped down in the chair he'd brought for her. "Okay," she told him, handing him a tube of medical ointment. "If you could just squirt this on there," she gestured a circle around the wound. "Grey said to be liberal with it, so don't be afraid of using too much. And then…" she got the bandages ready to hand to him.

"So, do you want the whole thing covered, or do I have to rub it in…?" he asked squeamishly.

"No, the bandages will rub it in. Draw a spiral or something. Ooh! Or a smiley face!"

"Uh...okay?" he hesitantly squeezed the tube onto the broken skin, only half-heartedly looking at what he was doing. "Oh god, this is disgusting," he muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing!"

"Did you get it?" she asked.

"I think…"

"Okay, just throw this puppy over it and let me know when you need the tape." She handed him the bandage and then patiently waited to feel the familiar stinging sensation as it touched the wound. Despite her preparation, she couldn't help but cringe a little at the contact.

"Oh! Did I hurt you?" Simmons asked worriedly, not knowing what to do.

"Nah, it's fine," she tried to reassure him. "Tape?"

"Thanks," he took it from her.

After a few more minutes of careful deliberation, Simmons was finished.

"We good?" she finally asked.

"I think so," he said uncomfortably.

"Great!" she said happily, lightly springing up from her seat. She turned and smiled up at him, "Thanks!"

"Uh...no problem?"

"Well, I should probably get out of your-" she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror, "...hair."

She couldn't stop herself from stepping closer to it to get a better look. All she had in her room at the moment was a little table mirror, and she'd only used it to patch up the cut over her eye. She hadn't really paid attention to...other things.

"They shaved my head!" she blinked at her own reflection.

"You didn't know?" Simmons asked, surprised.

"I mean, I guess it makes sense," she said. "I just didn't think about it." She couldn't stop staring at herself. The face she saw was just as new to her as the scar she'd found on her arm the night before. And now, even if she could remember what she looked like, she doubted she'd be able to recognize herself. She was completely bald, her left eye was blackened with a deep gash just above it, and her lips were swollen and chapped.

"Wow," she muttered, leaning in even closer, "I really don't look too hot." She examined her eyes. They were a cool grey color with a slight hint of green around the edges. Casting a glance further down her face, she saw she had sparse freckles across her nose and cheeks, and her lips were flush with pink. Leaning back away, she couldn't help but make a face. "Dimples too, huh?" she muttered, practicing a smile. She poked her cheek.

"Man, I look butch as hell!" she concluded after a minute.

Simmons stood behind her, shivering with distress. A woman had entered his bathroom and was now examining her looks in his mirror; his day couldn't get worse if someone dropped a nuke on his head.

He coughed, "You-erm, uh, don't look that bad?"

She laughed, remember he was there with her. Nodding, she turned and smiled back up at him. "Well thanks, Simmons. I appreciate that."

"You're welcome?"

Finally, she turned to leave, heading back the way she came. He followed behind her at a distance.

After she stepped out the door, she turned back. "Really," she said endearingly, "thanks for helping me out. It's nice to have people you can count on."

"Don't mention it," he replied, a little more relaxed knowing she would be gone soon.

"If you ever want an audience, you should hit me up," she said, nodding back to the banjo on his wall. "I'd love to hear you play."

"Oh! Uh, sure thing," he answered. He'd not expecting her to say that.

She smiled again. "Cool. I'll catch you later," she waved a final goodbye before heading back down the hall, humming to herself.

Simmons sighed deeply. That was stressful...but not as bad as it could have been.

* * *

It was still quite early when Crash entered Sarge's workshop. She'd been told by Carolina to stop by there before the morning report to pick up her armor.

"Hello?" she called out, looking around the seemingly empty workshop. There was a half-dismantled warthog to one side of the space, and random machinations in various stages of being built littered on the workbench. She didn't have time to see more than that, as the red-armored soldier suddenly appeared directly in front of her.

"Where did you-?" she started to ask before she was interrupted.

"You're late!" Sarge yelled at her.

She stepped away apologetically, "I'm sorry, sir. Carolina said-"

"That's what you get for listening to a dirty blue," he shook his head, "Misinformation! Which then leads to insubordination!"

She straightened her posture and stood at attention. "Won't happen again, sir."

He eyed her suspiciously before grunting in approval.

"Well, your armor is finished," he turned to lead her into the backroom of the shop. "Honestly, had to scrap most of what you came in. The helmet was beyond repair, and the old grenadier components too out of date to find replacements for. And what with neither of the Chorus armies wanting to claim you, I had to pull out some of the Freelancer equipment we'd taken from Crash Site Bravo."

"Crash Site Bravo?" she asked, confused.

"Heh heh. You weren't the first to crash land on this rock…I doubt you'll be the last either. Damned pirates!"

"What's 'Freelancer?'"

"Trust me when I say this: You do not want to know."

He walked her to a table in the back corner and flipped on an overhanging light. Laid out in all of it's pieces was her new armor. "Mark VI," she commented, picking up the glove piece and examining it closer.

"I made a few modifications to it myself," Sarge told her, "mostly based on specs of your previous suit. You've got extra compartments for explosives and a rigging set as well as storage. I also had Simmons rework your helmet to accommodate the non-standard night-vision from your old one. As for the flame-thrower," he lead them to another table, flipping on the light above.

"Ho-lee shit," she murmured, gazing longingly at the glorious machine before her. She reached out to touch it, but Sarge smacked her hand away.

"Stay away from it!" he ordered.

"But…" her lip nearly quivered before she regained her composure. "Yessir."

"Good girl," he nodded before turned the light off again. They both returned to where her armor was laid out. "Try it on. Make sure it fits. If you got any problems, go talk to Lopez and he'll get you sorted out. As for the color…"

"I love it," she told him.

"Rust?"

"Copper!"

Sarge shook his head. "If you say so. Either way, you need to get yourself sorted out before coming to the briefing room. 0800; Don't be late."

With that, Sarge left her to it.


	7. Chapter 7: The Badlands

_Red Team One. Enemy Outpost 3. 1400 hrs._

"Donut! Get your flowery butt over here!" Sarge yelled.

"I'd rather stay here if you don't mind, sir!" Donut yelled back from the boulder he was hiding behind. Enemy bullets struck the side of the rock, chipping off fragments and sending them flying in all directions. He covered his head with his arms to shield from the debris.

Within the encampment, Sarge was beating in the face of a black-suited pirate with the butt of his shotgun. "That wasn't a request, Private!" He turned on another grunt coming up behind him and fired a round into the man's chest.

"I'll cover you, Donut!" Crash's voice came through over comms.

All of a sudden, the sound of machine gun fire filled the area.

"GO NOW!" she yelled, her voice barely audible over the budda budda budda.

She had hopped up onto the back of an enemy warthog and taken control of the turret. The pirates that had been firing at Donut ran for cover, but two of them failed to reach it before they were mowed down by Crash.

Donut seized the moment to sprint across the clearing and join Sarge within the camp. As he ran, he tossed a few sticky grenades behind the rocks the mercenaries had ducked behind. Seconds later, he was out of sight and the grenades exploded, sending the mercs flying.

By the time Donut reached Sarge, all but one of the pirates had been taken care of, and when he saw the last come up behind his CO, he opened fire. Sarge ducked for cover, and the pirate was hit with almost a full clip from Donut's rifle.

Outside, the machine gun stopped, and Crash took a moment to scan the outpost for any remaining heat signatures. As far as her scanners could tell, all enemies had been taken care of. She radioed Sarge, "We're all clear out here, Colonel."

"Hrmph," Sarge grunted, picking himself up off the ground and looking towards Donut. "Maybe warn a fellow next time?"

"Sorry, Sarge!" Donut replied excitably, "When I saw you exposed like that, I couldn't help but unload!"

"Crash, get in here!" Sarge ordered over comms.

Crash did as she was told and hopped off the back of the Warthog, trotting through the clearing and into the makeshift tent.

"Find something interesting?" she asked, stepping inside and greeting her fellow reds.

"I guess you'd have to define the word 'interesting,'" Sarge replied, leading her over to a table in the corner of the tent. "Look familiar?" he asked.

They stared down at a small assortment of charred armor fragments.

"I-" Crash started, but trailed off. She picked up one of the fragments and rubbed away some of the black with her thumb. Copper colored armor shined back at her, and she shook her head frustratedly. "It could be mine," she finally answered before handing the piece over to Sarge. "Honestly, I can't remember what my armor looked like before….but the color seems right."

"These guys must have already been to the crash site," Donut poked his head in between them.

"Does that mean we're too late?" Crash asked, more to herself than anyone else.

Sarge growled, then answered, "Just because those no-good pirates beat us to the punch doesn't mean there's nothing left to find. S'far as I'm concerned, the mission's still a go."

She merely nodded, but she wasn't feeling all that enthused. Donut put his hand on her shoulder empathetically, "Don't worry, Crash. We'll find out who you are." She patted his hand gratefully, but she couldn't help but admit to herself that that's what worried her the most.

* * *

After a few more minutes of inspecting the outpost and rounding up any surviving pirates, Sarge radioed the FOB.

"Calling base! This is Colonel Sarge, over!"

"Reading you, Sarge. This is Carolina. Status report?"

"Just finished clearing out another outpost. Found a few armor fragments from the crash site."

"Another outpost? That's the third you've hit today," Carolina commented, not bothering to hide the fact she was impressed. "I'll re-deploy the cleanup crew when they get back from Outpost 2.

"As for the fragments," she continued, "Did you find anything useful?"

"Not as far as we can tell," he answered grimly. "There's nothing else from the crash here."

"Well," she huffed, "the site isn't that far from your current position. Even if the pirates have been there, I don't think it would hurt to check it out."

"My sentiments exactly," he agreed.

* * *

While Sarge was busy radioing the base and Donut working on tying up the remaining enemy soldiers, Crash took the time to examine all of the armor fragments in greater detail. Most of the pieces were small, around the size of her thumb nail. There were three or four that were larger though, and one that was nearly the size of her hand. She imagined the smaller pieces had been part of her helmet that had broken off when the back got smashed in. The bigger pieces she recognized as parts of shin-plates.

One by one, she picked each piece up to examine, brushing off the soot as well as she could and analyzing them from every angle. The closer she inspected, the more frustrated she became. In the end, she didn't know what disappointed her more: that she hadn't found any clues, or that she had expected to in the first place.

The anger building within her, she felt ready to snap. Of course, that's when Donut came in. "Ready to head out?" he asked her, chipper as ever.

Crash nodded, not looking away from the fragments sprawled out on the table.

His head turned to one side as he noticed something was off. "You okay?" he asked.

She turned her head to snap back at him, but paused, thinking better of it. She'd spent the last five hours fighting pirates with this man, and he'd been nothing but nice to her. Calming herself, she let out a curt "No," before leaving the tent.

Sarge was waiting for them by their warthog. "Carolina's sending in a cleanup crew to finish sweeping the place," he told them. "Next stop, we're heading for the crash site!"

"Unless there's another outpost between here and there," Crash complained lowly.

"Stow that kind of talk!" Sarge ordered. "Kicking pirate ass is in Red Team's job description! We knew going in that we'd hit some roadblocks on the way there."

Crash nodded apologetically, "Sorry, sir. Won't happen again."

Sarge eyed her contemplatively. It was odd to have a subordinate with even a little discipline that wasn't a complete kiss-ass. If Grif wasn't so fond of her, he might've actually grown to like this girl.

Donut hopped in the Warthog. "All ready to go, Sarge!" he called over. Sarge just grunted and gestured for Crash to follow him back to the vehicle.

* * *

They'd been out in the field since early that morning. After a brief goings over of the mission, Team One said their goodbyes to the convoy group, and headed out towards the badlands. Donut drove with Sarge riding shotgun and Crash perched at the cannon in back.

They hadn't been driving half an hour when they were ambushed by mercs who herded them back to the first outpost. Luckily there weren't too many men there to fight off, and Crash didn't have a lot of trouble blasting the enemy vehicles with the cannon. From there, Sarge and Donut had taken out the five ground troops with relative ease, and they proceeded onwards.

The crash site itself was normally a three hour drive from the Forward Operating Base, but no matter how hard they seemed to push, the small group of reds were continually delayed. Now, after taking out two more outposts that were each bigger than the previous, they were more than a little tired.

Morning had seemed to come and go before they knew it, and now the mid-day sun shined harshly down on them. All around were jagged hills and rocks and a desert that seemed completely void of life. And even with their suits cooling units, it was unbearably hot. Despite all of this, Crash couldn't help but find relative beauty in the wasteland. Amnesia or not, she felt like this landscape was something completely foreign to her, and she was glad to be stationed at the turret so as to have a better view to take it all in.

They rode for another forty minutes before the terrain became too much for even the warthog to handle. Crash and Donut hopped out of the vehicle to stretch while Sarge radioed base again. They'd been ordered by Kimball to call in as frequently as possible. With Wash out for the count, she disliked the idea of risking more valuable assets on a 'fool's errand.' As far as she was concerned, Crash was little more than a liability, and a distraction they didn't need right now.

But when Carolina asked for clearance to run the mission, Kimball couldn't help but give the go-ahead. After all, Wash had been right: there was something off about the crash. And with the mole still at large and increasingly open enemy movements in the badlands, the United Armies of Chorus needed all the information they could get their hands on. If there was even a chance of finding valuable intel from the crash site, it was worth the risk.

After Sarge finished making the call, he lead the group into the thick of the rocks. Not much was said between the three. All were weary after the long morning, and now felt a tingling of hope that they were on the home stretch.

Despite the initial quiet, when Donut noticed a cloud in the distance he couldn't help but speak up. "Look!" he pointed it out to the others who stopped in their tracks.

"It's just a cloud," Crash commented. The others turned to look at her.

"It's not 'just' a cloud!" Sarge corrected her, turning back to look at the vague white blur. "That's our one hope for shade!"

"Do you think it will make it over to us?" Donut asked longingly.

Crash started, "Well, the wind's blowing the wrong-"

"I think there's a chance!" Sarge spoke over her. "May the gods of weather look favorably down on us this day!" he called out to the sky.

Donut nodded in solidarity.

They remained watching the cloud for another five minutes before it began to dissipate into the dull blue sky. Even after it was gone, they stared out at the emptiness.

Finally, Sarge sighed and then continued trudging through the boulders. Donut followed wordlessly behind. "Maybe there will be another cloud?" Crash suggested, catching up to them. Her comment only produced odd glances from her companions. Clearly, she was the crazy one.

* * *

After another half hour of hiking, they approached the shallow canyon where Washington had first come across Crash.

It was clear from the third outpost that the pirates had at least been to the site, but it was impossible to know what they might have left behind in their wake. While caution was never the red's strongest suit, they attempted to use it now.

Donut had brought along a sniper rifle from the warthog, and used it to scope out the area for hostiles. Crash check and rechecked her visor scanners; even armor with cloaking could sometimes be picked up on thermals.

"I don't see anyone…" Donut muttered.

Crash agreed, "I'm not picking up anything either."

Sarge sighed. "Doesn't mean no one's here," he told them. "Donut, you stay here and watch our backsides."

"Oh boy! You got it, Sarge!"

He then gestured for Crash to follow him down into the canyon.

Checking once more for any sign of the enemy, the red and copper colored soldiers hopped down into the mesa.

"Is this it?" he asked her, surprised by how little was left of the ship.

"There was more…" she told him. "They must have taken it for some reason." Her voice was laced with disappointment.

Even the hard-hearted Colonel couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for her. She'd latched her hopes onto the idea of finding something about herself in the wreckage. Now they'd disappeared along with it.

She walked slowly towards the scorch marks on the cliff face, stopping to look at larger pieces of the ship as she went. When she got to where the cockpit had been, she kneeled down, searching the ground for something, anything that might give her some kind of clue as to who she was.

Sarge eventually came up behind her. "Look, I don't think there's-"

CRACK!

A sniper shot flew past Sarge's helmet and collided with the stone cliff behind him. "What in hell-!" he yelled.

"Shit!" she exclaimed. The closest cover was at least twenty meters away.

As they ran, several more shots rang out. Sarge called for Donut to return fire. When a panicked voice answered, "I can't see them!" Crash pulled out her battle rifle and shot in the general direction of the sniper. This gave them the cover they needed to get to the edge of the canyon. But as they approached the side, four more soldiers appeared as if out of thin air, having dropped their cloaking.

"This isn't good," she murmured.

"Ya think?" Sarge answered, raising his shotgun defiantly in the face of the enemy.

"Now, now, now," echoed from behind the line of black-armored mercs. "No need for violence," said the voice, ingenuine and sing-song. A man in smokey-grey armor with orange accents pushed through the middle of the pirate grunts. Crash suddenly felt sick to her stomach, and she instinctively stepped back.

Sarge growled, "Felix."

"If it isn't Sarge!" Felix mocked, "Fancy meeting you here." His head tilted to the side as he noticed Crash, then he returned his gaze the the soldier in red. "What brings you to this neck of the woods, if you don't mind me asking?"

Crash interjected, stepping between Sarge and Felix. "What have you done with the wreckage?" She attempted to put on a brave face in spite of herself, but her hands still shook from fear.

Felix whipped out his knife and pointed it menacingly in her direction. "I don't think that concerns you," he answered.

At the sight of the knife, her knees almost buckled. Her mind went blank from sheer terror, and she opened fire on the pirates. Two of them went down almost instantly. Felix used his shield to cover the others. In the pandemonium, the hidden sniper took a shot at her, the round piercing her shoulder.

"Cease fire, you idiot!" Felix shouted angrily before a sticky grenade landed at his feet. "Oh, f#*&."

Sarge grabbed a wounded Crash and pulled her up into a standing position. They started running back towards the center of the canyon while Donut climbed down from the other side of the cliff to meet them. He had a teleportation cube in his hands, and he shouted, "Agent Double-O Donut for the win!" As soon as they met in the middle, he set the cube off, transporting them out of there.

* * *

In the blink of an eye, they landed back by the warthog. Sarge picked himself off the ground and brushed away the dirt from his armor. Donut steadied himself by the jeep. Crash remained on her knees, ripping off her helmet and gasping for breath.

"You okay?" Donut asked her.

She didn't have time to answer before the contents of her stomach spilled out over the ground. The other reds both jumped back to avoid the splash.

"Well that's just disgusting," Sarge commented.

Donut rushed to her side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She was shaking like a leaf. He turned worriedly to his CO, "Sarge, she doesn't look too good."

"Get 'er in the jeep," Sarge pointed, then joined in helping Donut lift her up into the passengers seat. Stepping over the vomit, he went back and grabbed the helmet she'd thrown away. "We best get moving," he told the lightish-red soldier.

Donut nodded in agreement before hopping into the drivers seat. Sarge radioed back to base as they drove.

Barely conscious, Crash looked down in her hand. For a brief moment relief overwhelmed her. Thank God, it was still there.


	8. Chapter 8: The Puzzle Piece

_Felix's Squad. Badlands Crash Site. 1530 hrs._

The reds disappeared in a flash of light, and Felix couldn't stop himself from exacting his rage on the nearest corpse. In one swift motion he forcefully threw his knife down into the black visor of one of the downed pirates. The two he'd saved from Crash's fire backed away fearfully.

"Get down here Stevens!" Felix yelled in contempt at the sniper on the ridge. "This is f$*&ing perfect," he then muttered, grabbing his knife from the grunt's head. As they waited for Stevens to hike down to their position, he radioed his partner.

"What is it?" Locus asked upon hearing Felix's voice.

"It's the reds. They were here."

Locus sounded surprised, "How many?"

"Three. The red one and the pink one; and another I've never seen before."

"That's...odd."

"I think it was _her_ ," Felix's tone became hushed and he stepped out of earshot from his men.

Locus answered curiously, "Can you confirm?"

"If I could confirm, I wouldn't have said 'I think!'" Felix commented impatiently. "But yeah, I'm about ninety percent sure it was her."

"I'll check my sources." Locus reassured him. "Until then-"

"No. The sooner the better on that source check. I think she recognized me."

"The reports all say she's suffered from memory loss. I don't think-"

"Just check the damn source, Locus! Soon as I pulled my knife out she went berserk. I had to call off my sniper after he put a round through her shoulder-"

"You got her shot?!"

"No, she got herself shot! Thanks to her, two more of our guys are dead! She's lucky I didn't kill her myself."

Locus growled, "We need her alive."

"I know! Jeez- you don't have to keep telling me."

"Apparently I do. We've put too many resources into this venture to have you messing it up the first chance you get. See to it that it doesn't happen again."

Felix glowered.

Stevens finally made it down to their position, and he took his place behind his comrades. "What's going-" he started, before Felix's blade sunk into his skull. The two other pirates stepped away from the dead man, both attempting to ignore their commander's violence.

As the orange and ash colored mercenary stepped towards them, neither met his gaze. He pulled his blade out once more, cleaning it on his thigh. "Let that be a lesson to you," he said to the terrified pirates. "Don't shoot the copper one."

* * *

 _United Armies of Chorus FOB. Motorpool. 0830 hrs._

Caboose took in a deep breath. There was nothing quite like the smell of old tires and motor oil to really get your day going. He stood by a warthog with Freckles in his hands, feeling pumped.

The sound of a party horn echoed across the motor pool, and Caboose was surrounded by confetti floating back down to the earth.

Grif, who was standing nearby, couldn't help but take a step away from the soldier in regulation blue. He turned to his maroon companion. "Is it really necessary for the blues to come along?"

"Hey," Simmons replied, "I didn't give the order. Why don't you take it up with Kimball?"

Grif sighed deeply. "Nah, she's too far away."

Simmons looked over to his left. Kimball and Carolina stood not ten meters away, talking quietly with one another. "Gah! You are so lazy!"

Grif shrugged and pulled out a pack of twinkies.

"What is that?!"

"I'm hungry!" he said defensively. "I only had time for one breakfast this morning."

"You know what? I take it back: You're lazy _and_ fat."

"Wha-evuh," he replied with his mouth full. After swallowing: "I think you're just jealous."

Simmons scoffed. "Of you? I don't think so."

But at the suggestion, neither could help but glance towards the far end of the garage. Sarge was checking Team One's warthog while Donut stood by for assistance. Crash was behind them, punching and kicking the air, testing out her new armor.

"Why does she have to go with them?" they both muttered in unison. Then they turned on each other, "Why do you care?"

Simmons folded his arms over his chest and turned away haughtily. "Who says I do?" he replied.

Grif grumbled before falling back into complacency.

Once he knew he was safe, Simmons turned back to his friend once again. "But seriously," he commented, "Don't you think it's weird how Sarge split up the teams?"

"I know! If anything, I should be going with Crash. I mean, I'm the reason she's on red team!"

"I was more talking about Sarge splitting up Donut and Lopez. I mean, Donut is the only one who actually knows a little Spanish. How are _we_ supposed to communicate?"

"It's all just screwy," Grif agreed.

"What's screwy?" Tucker popped up behind them. Simmons jumped.

"Where did you even come from?!" Grif's voice went up an octave.

"Dude, I'm always around," he told them. "So, what are you guys talking about?"

"Oh, just about how Sarge split up red team," Simmons answered.

"It makes sense why he'd be taking Crash, but he could've at least brought us along," Grif grumbled.

"Crash?" Tucker asked.

"Oh yeah," Simmons filled him in, "that's what she's going by now."

"Not very original," Tucker commented.

The reds shrugged.

Tucker glanced over at the copper colored soldier. "And she's one of us now, armor and everything," he said lowly, not bothering to hide his irritation.

Grif saw how Tucker glared down the way and became defensive for his friend. "What's your problem?" he asked threateningly.

Simmons wasn't sure what he was more surprised by, Tucker's disdain for the new girl, or Grif's protectiveness of her. The next thing he knew, Grif had a gun on the turquoise soldier.

"Don't," Grif said warningly, his eyes on Tucker's hand gripping the energy sword at his side.

Simmons backed away from both of them, and their quarrel gained the attention of others around the room. Everything fell silent, and the tension could be cut with a knife.

Tucker hadn't even realized he'd reached for the sword until Grif's safety clicked out of place. Sobering at the sight of the gun, he put his hands up in surrender.

Grif was quick to lower his weapon. "What the hell, man?"

"Captain Tucker!" Kimball yelled. It was clear to her who the instigator had been.

Bowing his head ever-so-slightly, Tucker pushed past the reds and trotted over to the rebel leader.

"Care to explain what's going on?" Kimball asked him coolly.

Tucker couldn't help but notice that Church had appeared on Carolina's shoulder. As if he needed the AI to judge him even more. "I just…" he began before trailing off. Honestly, he didn't have an answer for her.

"Do you even know?" Kimball uttered harshly.

Tucker was taken aback by her tone. "Look, I-"

"You've been on edge ever since that ship crashed; I can understand that. But picking fights with your team is unacceptable."

Tucker opened his mouth to apologize, but nothing came out.

Kimball continued, "Until you can pull yourself together, you're suspended from active duty and confined to base."

"Wait, what?"

Church stepped in front of the tan and blue armored woman. "Woah, don't you think that's a little harsh?"

"Back off, Church," Carolina warned from the sidelines.

"No!" the AI told her scornfully. "Tucker's been an ass, but that doesn't mean he deserves to be suspended."

"Stand down, Epsilon," Kimball ordered.

Church refused.

"Stand down or join him."

"Church!" Carolina scowled.

The AI stood his ground.

Kimball puffed, "Fine. You're both suspended."

"What?!" Carolina, Church, and Tucker said in disbelief.

"You can't suspend him," Carolina told the other woman flatly, having composed herself after the initial outburst. "I need him to run my equipment."

Kimball stood up to the taller soldier in blue. "From what I've heard, you managed to handle things by yourself long before Epsilon came around. I'm sure you'll be fine."

Carolina gritted her teeth, stepping so close to Kimball that their helmets nearly touched. "I don't take orders from you," she spoke menacingly.

"Hey! Easy there, Carolina," Church flashed between them. "It's not like we were gonna leave the base anytime soon anyways."

Abated, she turned and stormed out of the motor pool. As she went, the little blue glowy man disappeared off her shoulder, reappearing beside Tucker a moment later.

"Uh...mind if I stick with you for a while?" he asked timidly. "She kind of kicked me out…"

Well aware of their recent argument, Tucker nodded. "Us blues gotta stick together, right Church?" he said, the true meaning behind his words being clear: we're cool.

"You know it, buddy." Church accepted his friend's 'almost apology.' They both glared at Kimball before following Carolina out the door.

She sighed before turning back to all those who had stopped work to watch the drama play out. "Everyone back to work!" she ordered.

* * *

After the awkward ordeal with the blues, Kimball and the rest of the reds gathered around Sarge and his squad to see them off.

"Are you sure you don't want me or Grif to go with you?" Simmons asked Sarge. "Carolina said you might run into some trouble on the way to the site."

"I'm sure," Sarge replied bluntly. "Besides, you're needed to guard the convoy!"

"Yeah," Simmons said defeatedly.

Meanwhile, Grif said his goodbyes to Crash. "You ready for this?" he asked her.

She nodded. "I gotta get out there sometime, right? And the sooner I figure out who the hell I am, the better. Plus, this armor is bad ass!"

"Yeah, well, don't push it too hard. You've still got that head thing…"

She punched him on the shoulder lightly. "Hey, least it can't get any worse!"

"Great," he joked, "another optimist. You and Donut should get along wonderfully."

"I've been meaning to ask you…is he…you know?"

"Don't ask, don't tell."

"But pink?"

"It's lightish-red!" they heard in the distance.

Grif shrugged. "Look, be careful out there."

"Sarge seems like a pretty tough customer. We should be fine."

Grif mumbled something she couldn't make out before Kimball addressed them all.

"I don't like the idea of sending men into the badlands right now, but I understand the need for this to be done. So be careful out there, stay in contact as much as you can, and come back to us in one piece. That's an order."

With that, Sarge hopped up in shotgun, and Crash stepped up to the turret. Donut waved everyone goodbye and slipped into the driver's seat. "Don't worry, Lopez. We'll be back in no time at all!" he reassured the robot.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Lopez grunted in Spanish.

* * *

 _Red Team One. Badlands Crash Site. 1515 hrs._

Her heart had already half broken. Seeing that the wreckage was gone was like a brutal awakening into a reality that was worse than she'd imagined. All she wanted was a clue of some sort, absolutely anything that could tell her who she was. Was finding that too much to ask for?

Running to where the cockpit had been, she skidded to her knees, searching with everything she had to try and find any trace of the person who had crashed there two weeks prior. Sarge followed behind slowly, giving her the space she needed to cope with the disappointment they'd found.

The rocky ground was charred black from where they ship had burned, and there were still a few pieces of deformed metal left in the wake. But the majority of what had initially been planted there was gone. The pirates had taken it away for reasons beyond her comprehension.

The clink of her armored fingers against the rock echoed through her new hearing aids as she dug through the first layer of debris. "Please," she whispered to herself, and any deity that might be listening. "Please let there be something."

She felt the presence of Sarge behind her and couldn't help but feel like he was some sort of doombringer. Clawing at the earth and rubble, all she wished for was a little more time to search, maybe even hope. Crawling deeper into the shallow crater, she heard a deep sigh from the Colonel behind her. Don't say it, she thought. Please don't-

"Look," Sarge started warily.

No! she thought. There's still hope! I can find something, I can-

That's when she saw it: a glimpse of scarlet among the black.

"I don't think there's-" Sarge continued, but at that point she was hardly listening.

She had begun to reach for the object just as the first shot rang out.

"What in hell-!" she heard Sarge yell from behind.

"Shit!" In a last ditch effort, she flung her hand out, grabbing whatever it the hell it was along with a handful of dirt. Clutching it tightly, she pulled her rifle out with her free hand and made a break for cover.

* * *

 _Red Team One. Desert Road, the Badlands. 1630 hrs._

For the last hour, she'd held onto her find with a death grip, afraid that they might be ambushed once more and she'd lose it in the chaos. But now that they'd been driving for so long and the pain from her shoulder had eased considerably, she grew comfortable enough to open her fingers.

She did so slowly, fearful that whatever she'd grabbed was little more than a piece of glass from a warning light, or some fragment of the cockpit. As she unclosed her glove, the dirt and pebbles that had come along in her haste fell to the floor of the warthog. What remained was a worn and yellowed piece of paper. One corner was folded outward, revealing the red coloring that had caught her attention in the first place. Carefully unfolding it, she saw that it was a photograph.

Two Red Army soldiers stood side by side, holding their helmets between them and merrily waving to the photographer. The one on the left was a woman she recognized; the other was a man she felt she'd never seen before. They stood close together in the middle of a sparse field, the sun shining down on them and glinting off a Red Base in the background.

Turning the picture over, Crash noticed neat cursive writing finely scrawled on the back. It read:

"KC,

"Don't let what happened keep you from remembering all the good times you had with Sam. I know what he meant to you, and trying to forget isn't going to do you any good. Trust me on that.

"I will find a way to see you again,

"D."

Looking at the picture once more, she squinted at the face of the woman, trying to figure out exactly where she'd seen her before. Only after a minute did she realize it had been when she'd examined herself in the mirror that morning.

She gasped, "It's me!" Turning it over yet again, she reread the note. "KC," she muttered to herself, testing it out on her tongue.

Donut glanced away from the road to see what she was mumbling about. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Crash nodded, hiding her find from view. "I'm good," she answered. "Feeling a lot better now."

"Well, we're almost back to base," he told her. "Then we can get you to a medic to get that shoulder checked out."

Nodding again, she leaned her head back against the seat. Her name was KC.


	9. Chapter 9: The Bitter Truth

_United Armies of Chorus FOB. 0845 hrs._

Not knowing where else to go, Tucker wandered around base. Although Church had seemingly disappeared, his presence within Tucker's mind was all too evident.

"Man, this is f#*&ed up," the AI grumbled in his head. "Since when is Kimball such a hard-ass?"

Tucker didn't answer. He was too busy trying to push down thoughts of the mole so as not to alert his friend. Instead, he hid his struggle behind anger at the rebel leader for putting him in such a compromising position in the first place. Shouldn't she have figured that the little blue guy might hitch a ride with him? It's not like he hadn't before.

"This is all just f#*^ing bullshit, dude," Tucker muttered. He became suddenly aware of just how frustrated he felt and the fact that he wasn't hiding it very well. His fists clenched and unclenched as his heavy boots shuffled disdainfully through the dirt. Passerby gave him a wide berth, as if his quiet fury was a physical thing.

Part of him revelled in the seeming power of it all; the fact that his temper alone could cause such a reaction from the people around him. After joining the rebels and taking on the role of squad-leader, he'd gotten used to the idea of being respected. Now, he was beginning to catch on to what it must be like to be feared.

The other part of him, better or worse, he didn't know, felt nothing but anxious. Church's words still echoed on an endless loop in his brain: " _I'm supposed to be the angry one around here! And you're supposed to be the pervy one! That's how this works!"_

He'd said it from the beginning: he was a lover, not a fighter. But all he'd done since the crash was stew in his own rage. And Kimball was right; taking it out on Grif, on anyone for that matter, wasn't going to do any good. Honestly though? How in hell could he hope to manage his anger when he couldn't even explain to himself why he felt it? How could he justify the hatred he had for Crash when not even he could understand?

The back and forth struggle with Church hadn't helped. Sure, they'd never _really_ gotten along. But lately the animosity behind the harsh words was all too real.

" _Admit that the reason you're so upset is because Wash left you just like I did."_

The words played back again and that familiar knot in his stomach returned. Was Church right?

Deep, deep down, Tucker knew that it had to be at least partly true; the words had stung too much to be entirely false. But that realization made him even more irate. Leave it to the f*&#ing computer program to figure out what was wrong before he did, and leave it to f*&#ing Church to be a dick about it.

But the whole damned premise of it all...how the hell could he admit that? How could he admit to the AI that he wasn't just scared, he was petrified at the thought, of losing Wash.

He'd gotten used to Church being dead. Hell, he died all the time! But then he was gone...legit, up and left, flew the coop, hit the highway, see ya never, gone. And his absence had affected Tucker more than he cared to remember.

The one thing, maybe the only thing, that had made that gut-wrenching, f&^$-the-world loneliness subside even a little, had been Washington.

He wasn't the best friend in the world by any means...In fact, Wash kind of sucked at that. But he had made one thing abundantly clear after joining the blues: he wasn't going anywhere. That, in and of itself, had given Tucker the most peace of mind; at least Wash would be there when shit hit the fan.

" _At least wait until tomorrow. It's almost dark, and we've been picking up Felix's guys out here for weeks."_

" _What if Caboose is right? What if there's somebody out there?"_

" _There are people out there! Bad guys!"_

" _I'm going," Wash told him stubbornly._

Dammit! He should have gone with him! Why hadn't he gone with him?

" _He's…he's not okay. He's in a coma."_

The words echoed through his mind.

" _Care to explain what's going on?"_

" _I just…"_

" _Do you even know?"_

Maybe at that point he hadn't...but now the truth stung like a son-of-a-bitch:

 _I don't want to be alone again._

"Oh my god, dude. Do you really feel like that?" An annoying voice broke his reverie.

Tucker stopped in his tracks. "What?"

Oh no. He'd forgotten about Church being inside his head.

"Tucker…?" the AI's voice was laced with something the teal soldier wasn't used to: concern.

"I know you're like, in my head and stuff...but you can't hear everything I'm thinking about, can you?" he asked, afraid of the answer.

An awkward silence followed. "...Not...not _everything_ …" Church started, "Just the stuff you project…"

Shit. "So…"

"You've been projecting...a lot."

Shit!

The AI popped back up on his shoulder before floating to his front to face him. "Tucker, you're not alone, man."

The blue soldier looked away.

"You know that, right?"

"I don't want to talk about it," he replied, agitated.

"You've got Caboose, and the Reds. I can't say Carolina cares for you that much...but Kimball's pretty fond of you.." Church started rambling.

Tucker walked through the holographic figure and continued on his way to nowhere in particular.

"And then there's the lieutenants," Church began, his image catching up to Tucker.

The AI went on and on, but neither one of them could ignore the fact that he never mentioned himself. They both knew the day would come when Carolina would leave for good and that Church would go with her, leaving Tucker alone once again. It was all just a matter of time.

Finally, after the program had run out of anything else to say, he muttered, "I'm sorry."

Tucker swallowed back the emotions that had been swelling in his chest. "Yeah...me too."

* * *

Neither of the blues were surprised when they'd wound up just outside of a particular ward in the medibay. Tucker'd spent the majority of the last few weeks sitting there beside his friend, waiting, hoping, for him to wake up.

As he pushed through the swinging double doors, he was surprised to see a figure sitting in his usual spot. Church popped up on his shoulder, the holographic image folding it's arms indignantly. "What are you doing here?" the AI hissed.

Kimball stood, sighing, before addressing the pair. "I came to apologize," she said. Then, looking back down towards the comatose freelancer, "I figured you'd end up here eventually."

Tucker ignored her gaze as Church spoke for the both of them, "Yeah, well, apology not accepted."

Kimball looked up in surprise, "Excuse me?"

Even Tucker couldn't help but turn to the little blue man on his shoulder.

"You chewed us out in front of the whole f*#*ing army, you b#*&#!" Church's voice raised in pitch.

"Uh," Tucker started, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, "Church…"

Kimball's friendly posture shifted into one befitting her rank and stature. "I'm going to choose to ignore that last comment," she said, although it was clear that her mood didn't agree.

"He doesn't speak for me," Tucker added, attempting to stay on what was left of Kimball's good side.

She sighed deeply yet again. "It's fine," she assured the turquoise soldier. "Church is right."

"I am?"

"I berated you in front of your team and half the soldiers on this base."

Tucker remained silent, and Church had even managed to quell his tongue. She had spoken so pointedly that it had confused the two. Was she trying to get at something?

"In fact," she continued, "Word of our little spat has already spread throughout the base. Everyone knows Captain Tucker and his AI friend are suspended for hostility and insubordination. The very same Captain Tucker who has been on-edge, and unpredictable ever since Agent Washington's return."

A moment of silence passed between the three before Church spoke up, "I don't get it."

"The same Captain Tucker who is now confined to base while almost _every other soldier_ is out on assignment."

She was practically pleading with them.

Tucker finally shook his head. "Look, I don't know if you realize who you are talking to," he told her, "But we are not gonna be picking up whatever the hell you're putting down any time soon."

"No one is around. You have full reign of the entire base. And anyone left will be too afraid of you to get in your way or ask any questions." There it was, the best she could manage.

The blues stared at her uncomfortably. "I know she's trying to tell us something…" Church muttered into Tucker's head. Tucker squinted at her, wracking his brain, until-

"Oh!" he blinked, finally understanding. "Oh, shit. You want me to look into that thing…that thing that we talked about…"

"What thing?" the AI asked, but Tucker ignored him.

Kimball sighed in relief before stepping forward to leave. Passing Tucker on the way out, she put her hand on his shoulder. "You have three days before the convoy gets back."

"What about him?" Tucker pointed to the glowy man.

"Can he help you or not?" she asked.

"Well, yeah...I guess. Wait, did you plan this?"

"Three days," she repeated before continuing out the door.

"Holy shit," Tucker muttered, "She planned this whole thing."

"What the hell are you talking about?!" Church asked frustratedly.

He turned to Church, projecting his thoughts for the AI to read, "She's leaving us here so we can find the mole."

"What mole?"

* * *

 _The Mole. UAC Convoy. Highway 270. 1600 hrs._

"No, I don't know what's on the convoy. Don't you think that if I knew I would have told you by now?" he asked impatiently.

"Watch your tone," Locus commanded before adding, "What about the girl?"

"What girl?"

"The girl that was with the other red team!"

"The girl from the crash?"

Locus growled in affirmation.

"What about her?"

"What was she doing out on the field? Has she started to remember anything?"

"Look, man, I don't know. I only know what I'm told, which isn't a whole lot in her case. Jenkins said she'd joined up with the Reds, but I didn't-"

"Didn't what? Think that was pertinent information?!"

"I didn't know! I hadn't confirmed it."

"Can you confirm it now?" Locus asked coolly.

"Grif, and Simmons, it's all they've talked about since we left base."

"Has. She. Remembered?"

Knowing there were only so many times he could repeat "I don't know," he shook his head. "I...Not that I'm aware of. From what I've heard, she can't even remember her name."

Locus sighed thoughtfully, taking in the information before replying, "I expect to hear your check in at the next stop. In the meantime, find out what you're transporting."

Before the flustered double agent could reply, Locus had ended the transmission. "Shit," he muttered before someone behind him got his attention.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone," Caboose reassured him, "Sometimes I like to talk to myself too."

He swallowed nervously, "Riiigghht." Because that's exactly what's going on here.

* * *

 _Location Unknown. 1600 hrs._

Locus stood in what seemed to be a command center of some kind, although the room was rather small and dark, on top of still being in construction. Video monitors lined each wall and were surrounded by various control panels and gauges. As the feed to the UAC's convoy cut out from the main screen, he turned to one of the three engineers who were currently installing machinery throughout the room.

"What a pitiful excuse for a soldier," he said venomously. The mercenary's gaze fell on the lackey's hands as they continued to wire up more equipment. "Fortunately, once we have this installation up and running, he'll have outlived his usefulness."

"You really think it'll work?" the grunt let out in reprieve, turning to look at the surrounding room. They'd been working on it for months.

Locus glared down at him. "It has to."


	10. Chapter 10: The Lucky Charms (Part One)

_United Armies of Chorus FOB. 1800 hrs._

A pair of medics were waiting for them when Red Team One pulled into the garage. Donut was quick to help them pull Crash out of her seat while Sarge shouted orders and grunts up from the turret.

"Really, I'm fine," Crash protested as they planted her onto the awaiting gourney.

One of the medics had already stripped the armor away from her shoulder, while the other double checked her vitals. "We'll take her from here," the second told Sarge, ignoring Crash completely.

As they wheeled her off Donut gave her a half hearted wave.

While most of the surgical team gathered to patch up Crash and were joined by Dr. Grey and her assistants, the rest of the medibay was virtually empty. As such, no one was present to notice a slight spike in Agent Washington's vital signs…

* * *

" _Lucky Charms! On me!" Captain Brickman commanded, whispering harshly. Despite his efforts to keep quiet, his nasal baritone seemed to rumble through the dense air that surrounded the squad._

 _They'd been in the jungles for almost three weeks now, hunting down rogue Covenant troops that had fled after the UNSC took out their supply base. It was bad enough being surrounded by alien flora and fauna, but the humidity...that was something else entirely. The marsh was hot and damp beyond anything the ODST squad had encountered, and the canopy above them was so thick that backup thermal imaging was necessary to see even during the day. Now that it approached nightfall, the heat became less of an issue, but the darkness was an ever growing obstacle._

 _Visibility was close to nothing as the squad huddled in on their CO's command. "Is anyone else bothered by the fact that our squad is named after breakfast cereal?" he glanced down briefly at the pot of gold painted on his shoulder, shaking his head._

" _You're just jealous you didn't get a cool name," a purple-clad figure responded._

" _This coming from a man who goes by 'Rainbows?' I don't think jealousy's the problem."_

" _Can it, Goldylocks," Brickman ordered._

" _It's Pot O' Gold," he grumbled, so that only Red Balloons could hear. The other man snickered._

" _Martinez, Locke, and Patterson," the Captain continued, "I want you to sweep north. We haven't covered that ground yet, and I don't want to be caught off guard. Dobbins, pair up with Bismark to take point." He nodded to the man with the sniper rifle and a shooting star emblem on his chest, "The rest of us will follow you to the lights you saw."_

 _Bismark exchanged his sniper for the DMR on his back, "Yessir."_

" _Lieutenants with me!" Brickman ordered, and he and 'Loons stepped forward. "Sweets, watch our backs."_

" _You got it," the pink, heart-clad trooper stepped in behind them._

" _Comms check. Sound off!" 'Loons ordered._

 _Martinez: "Horseshoe, copy."_

 _Locke: "Clovers, copy."_

 _Dobbins: "Blue Moon, copy."_

 _Patterson: "Rainman, copy."_

 _Bismark: "Star, copy."_

 _Sweets: "Sweetheart, copy."_

 _Loons' nudged his elbow, "C'mon, Davey."_

 _He sighed, "Pot O' Gold, copy."_

" _Lucky Leader, copy," Brinkman sounded._

" _Red 'Loon, copy," was the last name to be called._

 _With that, Horseshoe, Clovers, and Rainbows made their way north. Bismark and Blue began their trudge to the east, while the rest of LC Squad followed._

" _Seriously, who came up with this, Gill?" he asked 'Loons. "And why do I have to be Pot O' Gold?! What does that even mean?"_

" _Aw, quit yer complaining. Would you rather be called 'Sweetheart?'"_

" _Hey, I heard that!"_

" _Well I wasn't exactly mumbling, now, was I?" 'Loons retorted before turning back to him. "Seriously, man. I think you_ lucked out _on that one." He chuckled._

" _Assaulting me with puns now? As if bullets weren't enough!"_

" _Would you both just shut up already?" Bismark put in his two cents._

" _Why is everyone listening in on our conversation?" he asked frustratedly._

" _Maybe because you two idiots forgot to turn your comms off," Brickman suggested. "Now, shut up and fall back in line. I need your eyes open right now."_

* * *

" _Look, Gilly. I get that you want to get out of here, but is this really the best way to do it?" he asked his friend._

 _Gilligan O'Gill sat across the cafe table. They both stared at the datapad he'd produced from his pack and laid before them. David hadn't seen more than the UNSC logo on the corner, but he knew exactly what this was._

" _What other way is there, Davey?" the man said, his slight irish accent coming through a little more than usual._

" _Well, I don't know! But there's gotta be something. And hey, even if we don't go off planet, there're plenty of places here already-"_

" _You know that's not the same! I wanna see space! I wanna explore worlds! You can't do that sitting on the same rock your whole life. This," he pointed to the pamphlet. "This could be our way out."_

 _David looked at his friend sceptically. "You want to be an explorer now? This has nothing to do with Lana?"_

 _Gilly looked hurt at the suggestion before sighing dramatically. "I won't lie to you, David; of course it's got something to do with Lana. But not everything. Not enough to not consider the possibilities." He slid the pad closer to his reluctant friend. "Don't you think we owe it to ourselves to do what our parents couldn't? We could leave this backwater planet."_

 _David grabbed the pad, taking the time to read through the pamphlet. He scoffed, "ODSTs? Gill, in what universe are we capable of being 'elite commandos?'"_

" _Why couldn't we be? Seriously? What's stopping us-"_

" _Let me rephrase that: In what universe am_ I _capable of being an 'elite commando?'"_

" _You handled yourself fine against Mitch Blakely."_

" _We were twelve!"_

" _All the same, that was one for the ages, mate."_

 _David shook his head. "I'm not a fighter, Gill."_

" _Then let's appeal to Davey's altruisms: The Covenant are gaining more ground in this galaxy every f#*^ing day. You saw what they did to Arcadia. What happens if they come here next? You've got family to think of."_

 _Gilly received a harsh glare for this. "You bastard. You want to appeal to my 'altruisms,' then start taking this seriously!" He set the datapad back on the table. "Sure, joining up will get you off this rock, but what then, Gilly? You're talking about a war, against aliens no less! Do you know how many people come back from something like that? Not very many."_

" _Why the hell is that a problem? You've said it yourself almost every day since I've known you: there's nothing for you here. Now you've got a chance to do something, and you're getting all yellow about it."_

" _There's a difference between cowardice and fear. And damn right, I'm afraid. Because you're right, I have my family to think of. What happens when one of us get's killed? Are you gonna be the one to tell Lana I'm gone? Am I going to have to be the one to tell her that you got disintegrated by some weird alien shit?"_

" _Can we please not talk about your f#* &ing sister?"_

" _Hey, you brought it up. I'm just trying to be realistic. Because the goddamn truth is this: we do this," he pointed back down to the pad, "the odds are, we're not coming back alive."_

" _And what's the alternative, David?" Gilly raised his voice, "This?! Take a good hard look around you," he spread his arms out wide, "Is all this really worth living for?"_

 _Dave rubbed the bridge of his nose stressfully._

" _Do you want to've spent your entire life in this hellhole, dying little by little each and every f#* &ing day? Or do you want to go out there," he pointed to the sky, "and _live _just once?"_

" _Damn you, Gill," he bowed his head._

 _Gilligan O'Gill suppressed a smile._

" _I don't want to do this," he pleaded for good measure, but they both knew how this was going to go._

 _Gilly grabbed the datapad and put it in his pack. "The recruiter's only gonna be here 'til tomorrow. We better go now."_

 _He sighed, then followed his friend. "Bastard."_

" _Asswipe."_

* * *

 _LC Squad made it back to base, tired as hell, but none the worse for wear. The lights Bismark had seen turned out to be another patrol squad. Someone in command had f#* &ed up and sent in double the troops necessary to sweep the area. As such, the Lucky Charms were ordered to return to base and let the other squad take over. _

_Heading to the barracks after a very brief debrief, he and 'Loons waved goodnight to the enlisted men. They were half way home when they received a message from Brickman to report back to the debriefing room._

" _What's all this about?" David wondered aloud._

 _Gilly was visibly upset. He grumbled about wasted time and sleep as he followed his friend back the way they'd come._

 _As the sliding double doors swooshed open for them, they saw the solemn faces of their CO and one Major Jeremy Toplin. The lieutenants entered before standing at attention._

" _At ease," Toplin commanded, his voice much softer than the gruff Brickman's. "Lieutenants, Captain Brickman has informed me that you both hail from Sansar."_

" _Yes, sir," Gilly answered._

 _The Major sighed tiredly, before leaning on his hands against the table. "I've got some bad news for you boys."_

 _As the Major rambled on, the only two words David made out from him were "no" and "survivors."_

" _N-not even an evac sh-ship?" he interrupted the Major's condolences. "Sir," he added on, remembering who he was talking to._

 _Captain Brickman shook his head woefully._

 _He was glad to've been wearing his helmet, so as the officers could not see the tears streaking down his cheeks. "W-w-will that b-be all, s-sir?"_

 _Major Toplin nodded, dismissing the Lieutenants. Captain Brickman stepped forward, as if to speak, but the Major held his hand up, stopping him. Losing family is one thing, but a whole planet? That's inconsolable._

 _He and Gilly leaned into each other on the way out, neither knowing who was holding up who. They stumbled through the base that way, but as they came upon their room the two kept walking. Soon, they found themselves at the edge of the treeline. All that laid before them was foilage and swamp, echoing the sounds of insects and reptiles through the dense night air._

 _Finding the nearest tree with his hand, David leaned against it, sliding down until he hit the soft ground. Gilly stood nearby, wordless. Minutes passed as the still beings became one with the forest, until a man's voice, screaming in agony, rang out through the trees. He watched his friend through tear-blurred eyes as he fell to his hands and knees, sobbing and out of breath._

" _G-gill?" he spoke softly. "What're we gonna do?"_

* * *

" _Medic!" He heard a voice in the distance, screaming for help. "Medic!"_

" _We're coming, Rain!" he yelled back, trying to mask the desperation in his tone. "Just hold on a little longer!"_

 _Gilly swore up and down beside him. "We're pinned down! No way we make it over there in time."_

" _Medic!"_

 _He peeked around the tree to try and see their squadmate, laying down some suppressive fire as he looked. As the enemy returned fire, he ducked back, falling into Gill's shoulder. "Well, we have to do something!" he responded._

" _Dammit! Where's Horseshoe?"_

" _Medic!"_

 _He shook his head. "He needs to stop yelling. He's only making himself an easier target."_

" _Medic!"_

" _We hear you, already! Shut the hell up!" Gill yelled. "Star! You have eyes on Rain?"_

 _Their comms buzzed before the sniper replied, "Negative, 'Loons. He's surrounded by Covenant."_

" _What about-"_

 _There was another buzz as a third transmission interrupted their link, "-unter! Captain Brinkman is down! I repeat, Captain Brinkman is-shit!"_

" _Medic!"  
_

" _Dammit, Patterson! Shut the f#* & up!" he yelled._

" _Blue!" Gill screamed into comms, "Blue, what's going on?!"_

" _Bismark, do you have eyes on them?" he asked._

" _Oh god, Pots. Clovers and Horseshoe look like f#* &ing puddles. Blue and Sweetheart are fighting a hunter alone. I have to get in there."_

" _Hold your position," he replied._

" _Lieutenant, I-"_

" _You're our only eyes out here, Star. I can't risk losing you, so stay in your position!"_

" _...Yessir."_

" _Guide us to them, Star," Gill ordered._

" _What about Rainbows?" he asked._

 _They sat listening for a moment, but Clive Patterson's cries for a medic had ceased._

" _F* &^," Gill muttered so that only he could hear. "We're too late for him. We need to get to the girls," he said resolutely._

 _David nodded. He watched as the balloon crested soldier set up his flamethrower attachment. "Going in hot, huh?" he commented, reloading his own battle rifle and prepping his ammo for quicker reloads._

" _Hell yeah!"_

* * *

" _We keep going, Davey," Gill sniffed, wiping the built up mucus from his nose and mouth and flicking it off his hand. His voice was hoarse from screaming. "We do what they couldn't: we survive this f*# &ing war."_

" _Gilligan, Lana...she's…"_

" _Dead."_

 _Closing his eyes, he dug his back into the tree, feeling the rough bark grind against his shoulder blades. It hurt, but it was nothing compared to the ache in his chest. He heard a rustling of leaves and then felt a body plop down next to him, leaning into his shoulder. Gilly sniffed again, and David turned to look at him._

" _I don't know if I can do it," he muttered._

 _There was a moment of silence between them before Gilly opened his mouth, singing quietly, "...'_ I've paid my dues _.'"_

" _Oh no."_

"'Time after time _...'" Gill continued._

" _Seriously this isn't the-"_

" _..._ I've done my sentence _-' C'mon, sing it with me!"_

" _No!"_

"' _-_ But committed no crime!' _David!"_

 _He sighed, "'...'_ And bad mistakes…"

" _Yes! There it is!-'_ I've made a few _!'"_

 _Together: "'_ I've had my share of sand kicked in my face, but I've come through _!'"_

 _Gill hopped to his feet, pulling David up with him. "You ready for this?!"_

" _This is so dumb."_

"'And we mean to go on,'" _Gilly lead them into the chorus, grabbing David by his shoulders and forcing them to sway back and forth, "'_ and on and on and on _!'"_

 _It took effort for him to keep from smiling as they shouted their lungs out into the marsh, "'_ WEEEE ARE THE CHAMPIONS, MY FRIEND! AND WEEEE'LL KEEP ON FIGHTING, TILL THE END _!'"_

" _YOU HEARD ME MOTHER F# &^ERS!" Gilly added interim. _

_David laughed as they kept on, "'_ WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS! WEEE ARE THE CHAMPIONS! NO TIME FOR LOSERS, 'CAUSE WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS!'"

 _Looking over, he saw that tears were streaming down Gill's face in waves, but his friend didn't stop singing. He knew then that Gill was feeling everything he felt, the pain, fear, and desperation; but he wasn't going to let it bring him down. The aliens could take his family, his friends, even his planet, but they sure as hell weren't going to take his soul._

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

The song quoted above is "We Are The Champions," by Queen.


	11. Chapter 10: The Lucky Charms (Part Two)

**A/N: This is Part Two of the chapter posted yesterday! So make sure you've read that one first!**

 **Disclaimer: The following contains (more or less) graphic violence. If that makes you uncomfortable, please skip to after the first break.**

" _Enemies to your right!" Bismark called out over comms._

" _Our right, or your right?!" Gill yelled back before an array of plasma was fired in their direction. "Never mind, I figured it out!"_

 _He heard Bismark sigh and he couldn't stop himself from smiling. Leave it to Gilly to exasperate the sniper even more. Then again, if he could distract them from the fact that half their squad was dead or injured, all the better._

 _Keep it light, he thought: stay on mission._

 _Bismark was stationed on a cliff overlooking the forest, calling out enemy positions and offering sniper support where and when he could. Pots and 'Loons had been with Rainbows patrolling the north quadrant, while Captain Brickman and the other Lucky Charms headed west to offer V-Squad some much needed backup. Things had gone to hell when the larger group was ambushed by brutes._

 _As the Lieutenants and their ever-chipper engineer moved to join the rest of their squad, they were attacked by a horde of grunts and jackals. Downing one of the grunts, Rainbows had grabbed the remainder of his sticky grenades and ran head-on into the wave of enemy soldiers. Pots had attempted to follow and offer cover-fire, but was stopped by a small group of elites._

 _By the time he and Gill had taken down the large aliens, half their ammo was depleted, Rainbows was nowhere to be seen, and they'd been flanked by another group of jackals. They'd been taking cover behind a group of trees when they got the call from Blue Moon._

 _Brickman's unit had been faring well against the brutes before two hunters joined the fight. Horseshoe, the team's only medic, was the first to be killed. He'd attempted to come up on the hunter from behind when the monstrosity backhanded him into a tree. The impact itself was enough to kill Vance Martinez; that didn't stop the giant alien from pulverizing the rest of the medic into oblivion with it's fists._

 _The captain was stabbed by an elite not much later._

 _Almost as soon as Gill turned on his flame thrower, everything seem to go on autopilot. The Lieutenants worked in perfect unison, with Gilly lighting people up and David mowing down anything that was left standing. They made their way past the jackals, and Bismark guided them to the clearing where Blue Moon and Sweetheart were fighting the remaining hunter. Clovers had sacrificed himself to cover Sweetheart when she dragged Brickman off the battlefield, taking out the other hunter as he went._

 _It took longer than they would have liked, but eventually they'd reached what was left of their squad. He poked his head out from behind a tree, getting an unimpeded view of the clearing, just in time to see the remaining hunter lunge at Blue. She managed to dodge it, firing her shotgun at its head. Meanwhile, the pink-clad Sweetheart fired at the weak point on its back with a heavy machine gun._

 _Nodding to one another in unison, Gill and David joined the fray._

" _Get behind me!" Gill ordered Blue, covering them with a wall of fire. David ran in front of them, jumping over the flames as he unloaded an entire clip into the hunter's arm, attempting to disable the green energy cannon._

" _Well, that got its attention," he commented triumphantly as its cannon began to recharge. At this point, the hunter focussed every effort on him, following his movements with its arm and staggering towards him. "Oh no. That got its attention." The cannon fired, and David yelped and rolled out of the way, narrowly dodging the concussive blast._

" _Watch yourself!" Gilly called out to him, he and Blue flanking the hunter from the side._

" _Yeah, thanks for the reminder!" he shouted back sarcastically, firing another clip into the monster's neck._

" _F#* & this, we're not making a dent!" Blue growled in frustration. It'd taken everything they'd had to take out the first hunter. Now, half their squad was out for the count, and what was left was tired and low on ammo. "We need to kill this mother!" _

" _I'm open to suggestions!" Gill retorted._

 _Just then, Bismark called in, "Got movement on your perimeter!" A second later, a shot rang out from the distance and something in the treeline exploded. Next thing they knew, they were pinned down by an array pink energy needles. Another shot rang out and another grunt exploded, but the rest of the line began moving up: the remaining Lucky Charms were slowly being surrounded. "I can't get them all!" Bismark told them, firing off another hit._

" _Sweetheart, mow 'em down!" David ordered._

" _Roger that, Gold Leader," she mocked, turning her machine gun to the trees. Screams of grunts echoed through the dense air as the little guys ducked for cover._

" _I told you this name was stupid!" he complained, running back towards Blue and Gilly._

" _Honestly, you're bringing that up again now? And what do you even have to complain about? People call me 'Loons! Like I'm a f#* &ing lunatic or something!"_

 _David dodged another blast from the hunter before getting behind the wall of fire._

" _At least Dobbins got a cool name," he continued to pout._

" _Blue Moon? You really like that?" Gill was surprised._

" _Hey!" Blue protested. "It's not that bad. Better than 'Shooting Star.'"_

 _Their comms buzzed again, "I will shoot you, Blue. Won't even see it coming. Blam! Pink mist."_

 _Dave and Gilly grimaced. "That's a little violent."_

 _Another sniper round went off and a grunt screamed bloody murder, as if to accent Bismark's point._

" _What do you even care? Everyone calls you Bismark anyways." Blue commented._

" _See. Last names. That's something I can get behind!" David told them, reloading a clip._

" _Dude, nobody here even knows your last name," Sweetheart chimed in during a lull in her machine gun fire._

 _Gilly laughed, "It's-" He was cut off by another blast from the hunter's cannon._

 _A second later, Sweetheart called over, "There's too many over here! I'm gonna need some backup."_

" _We got this," David pushed Gilly towards the treeline to reinforce their perimeter. His friend looked a little skeptical, but he did as requested._

" _You really think we got this?" Blue asked him, also concerned._

 _He shook his head. "Probably not."_

 _The hunter turned to them, raising its arm cannon._

" _Uh-oh. You want the front or the back?"_

" _Back," Blue replied, as if it were obvious._

 _He cursed under his breath, reopening fire on the creature while Blue Moon ran around to flank it's rear. A pang of guilt ran through him as he wished Rainbows could be there with a few grenades._

 _The giant alien roared, lowering its arm and charging at him._

" _What the-!?" he ran for dear life to the edge of the clearing, the monstrosity following him as he went. "Blue!" he called for help._

 _She was following the beast as quickly as she could manage, reloading her shotgun as she went. "I don't have a long range weapon!" she yelled back, attempting to justify her ineffectiveness._

 _Just then, a sniper round came from the mountainside. The hunter stopped dead in its tracks, falling to one knee. "I've got you covered, Pots," Bismark called in._

 _With the hunter wounded, the Lucky Charms began to close in on it; although its arm cannon continued to be a nuisance. David dodged shot after shot as he continued to fire on its arm. He knew there was no way to kill the thing from the front, so he left that task to Dobbins._

 _Blue blasted it in the back with her shotgun, round after round after round._

 _After what seemed like an eternity, the hunter's cannon was finally disabled, and Blue had weakened it to the point where it was nearly immobile._

" _F* &#, I'm out of ammo!" she called out, connecting the useless weapon to her back and pulling out two ka-bars. _

" _Don't get too close to it," David warned, "It's still got its shield!"_

 _Whether she didn't hear him or simply chose to ignore his warnings, he didn't know. He continued firing at its neck to try and keep its attention, but something or other seemed to alert it to the ODST coming up from behind. In one swift motion, the beast turned, throwing out its shield arm and pounding the blue-clad soldier with it, knocking her on her back. David stared wide eyed as it raised its arm, the pointed end of the shield aimed directly at the fallen Blue._

" _Petra!" Bismark screamed over comms, firing off three more rounds at the beast._

 _It staggered, having taken all it could. With its dying breath, it thrust its shield down at the ground. The heavy metal sunk into the soil with a satisfying *chhk*...effectively cutting Blue in half. Her screams faded as she bled out, the dead hunter collapsing beside her._

" _David, is she…?" Bismark's voice trembled._

 _A lull washed over the battlefield as both sides realized their losses._

 _With the hunter dead and most of their third wave out for the count, the remaining Covenant soldiers retreated back into the jungle where the remains of V-Squad took them out._

 _After Gilly called off the danger, Bismark joined them from the cliffs. By the time he reached her, Private Petra Dobbins was long dead._

" _Grant…" David spoke gingerly. He watched as Bismark knelt down next to their fallen comrade. Gently, he lifted her shoulders and held her close to him._

 _Gilly grabbed David's arm and turned him away slowly. "Leave him be," he whispered._

" _I tried to warn her," he told his friend sheepishly, trying to ignore a tree that was covered in goo that had once been their medic._

 _The four remaining Lucky Charms were left alone in a clearing in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by the dead._

* * *

" _Do you think he meant to do it?" Gill asked him, his voice soft and sad._

" _I don't know," he answered. "With him it's hard to tell."_

" _He loved her, I think," Gilly concluded, downing another shot._

 _His next words were laced with a touch of anger, "That's not an excuse."_

" _I didn't say it was a bloody excuse, did I?"_

" _Well you guys are real downers, you know that?" Sweetheart chimed in, completely plastered. "This's s'posed to be a wake for f#* &'s sake. Lighten uppa bit." She waved for another round. _

" _Wakes are supposed to be depressing, Olive," Gill said flatly._

" _No," she argued, "They're there to 'celebrate' the dead."_

" _Yeah. Hear, hear for Bismark for f#* &ing overdosing on painkillers," his voice cracked as he raised his glass. "Because losing the rest of the squad wasn't enough," he mumbled into his pint._

 _Gilly ignored him. "I mean, you heard him after Blue was...after Blue…"_

" _Got cut in half by a big-ass alien?" Sweets finished for him._

 _David nearly spit out his drink. "Way to be delicate, 'Liv."_

" _What?" she slurred defensively, tears forming in her bloodshot eyes. "She wuz my friend too."_

" _I'm tellin' you," Gill reiterated, his accent coming through more than usual. "He must've really loved her."_

" _So what?! That gives him the right to go all emo and die on us?!" David slammed the glass on the counter._

" _You never loved someone like that," Gill answered, not raising his voice. "You have no idea what it's like to lose everything."_

" _That's bullshit, and you-"_

 _Gill spoke over him. "You still think we're fighting this war to protect what's left of the f#*^ing galaxy, Davey!"_

" _Well, what the hell else are we fighting for? The aliens are-"_

" _That's my whole point! You haven't figured it out yet: there's nothing left! There's no 'for King and Country;' we don't even have a home to come back to! And 'for the good of mankind' has always been a f &#*ing joke, and you know it! There's not even Lana..." his voice caught on the name.  
_

 _David didn't know how to react. They hadn't spoken of his sister since the night they found out their homeworld had been glassed. How could he have not realized how hard Gilly had taken her death? "If that's the case, then what the hell are you still doing here, Gill?"_

 _Gilly sniffed and rubbed the dust out of his eyes. "Where else would I be?"  
_

* * *

 _He stood outside the CO's office, the letter still in his hands. His heart was like a jackhammer in his chest as his eyes sped along the words for a fourth time. Now, as he began again, he couldn't help but skip to the good part:_

" _You have been selected for participation in Project Freelancer."_

 _He'd spent the last month preparing for this moment: from rigorous field tests to combat evaluations, painstaking interviews to meticulous mental and physical exams. But this one letter had brought that all to a close: he'd made it._

 _After looking over the paper in his hands a few more times, he couldn't help but grin giddily to himself. He had to tell Gilly._

 _Sprinting towards the barracks, he burst into their quarters only to find his roommate downing what was left of a bottle of whiskey. Gill's eyes were red and swollen and his movements sluggish; he looked like he was about ready to pass out._

" _What are you doing?" he asked, his tone not quite harsh._

" _What the f * &'s it look like?" the Irishman answered, setting (dropping) the bottle on the floor and falling back into his cot._

 _He stared at his friend from the doorway for a moment before noticing the crumpled up piece of paper on Gilly's nightstand. For a second his excitement turned to fear. He rushed to the stand and grabbed the document, sitting back on his own cot while straightening it out._

" _Captain Gilligan O'Gill,_

" _I am pleased to inform you, that after much deliberation, you have been selected for participation in Project Freelancer._

" _Your skills both on and off the battlefield have proved your worth to the UNSC time and time again, and we look forward to having those skills serve an even greater purpose in this elite program._

" _Tomorrow, you are to report to Pelican bay 009 at 0600. From there you will be escorted to the Mother of Invention to begin orientation. I will be there to greet you in person when you arrive._

" _From this point forward, you will be addressed by the codename Agent Illinois. Your current name and rank no longer have place within the Project or the UNSC._

" _Project Freelancer is the military's most prestigious and technologically advanced project to date. Being selected as an agent is one of the highest honors any soldier may receive, and you should take pride in this selection._

" _I expect great things from you, Agent Illinois, and I look forward to meeting you face to face once more._

" _Director of Project Freelancer,_

 _Dr. Leonard Church"_

 _He looked up at his friend, not understanding. "You made it," he said._

 _Gilly pulled out a box of cigarettes and his lighter._

 _"Since when do you smoke?"  
_

" _Piss off," was the only reply he received._

" _I don't get it, Gilly," he finally exclaimed. "You made it!" he waved the wrinkled paper around. "And I did too!" he pulled out his own letter. "We should be celebrating!"_

 _Gill took another deep breath before blowing smoke in his face. "Can't you tell? I am celebrating." His words were laced with bitter sarcasm._

 _He frowned. Normally he'd chalk it up to Gilly being Gilly, but something about his friend seemed more off than usual. "We've been working towards this for weeks! I don't understand—"_

" _You think maybe that's the problem, Davey? That you don't understand." Gill sat up in his bed so as to better face his friend. He snatched the letters away and looked through them. "Or should I be calling you 'Agent Washington' now?"_

 _He glared back at Gill. "What is your problem?"_

 _It was Gilly's turn to wave the papers in his face, "Don't you see what this is?"_

" _It's an opportunity to win this war—"_

" _It's a f#$%ing death warrant, David!" Gill threw the notes to the ground. Their eyes met for a moment. Gilly was pleading with him, begging him to understand. "What happened to the man who didn't want to fight?"_

" _This isn't about fighting! It's about doing the right thing!"_

" _And to lose yourself in the process? Davey, they're not even letting us keep our names! What part of that seems right to you?"_

" _It's a secret project! What the hell did you expect?!"_

" _That's my f#* &ing point! In what universe are you a secret agent? In what universe am I?"_

" _This one! This universe!" he grabbed back his letter from the floor. "We were hand-picked for this, Gill. If it wasn't meant to be, we wouldn't have gotten these."_

 _Gilly finished his cigarette before flicking it to the ground and crushing it with his boot. He rested his head in his hands tiredly. "I can't do it."_

 _Anger swelled up in David's chest. "You're joking," he said flatly._

" _I'm really not," Gill said miserably._

 _David stood, proceeding to pace in attempt to calm down. His hands clenched and unclenched into fists. "No. You really must be," he demanded. "Because this isn't something you just get to say no to!" His voice had raised to a near shout._

" _Davey, I—"_

 _He grabbed his drunken friend by his shirt collar and pulled him onto his feet before pushing him forcefully into the wall. "I don't even want to hear it," his voice was considerably more measured than before. After a moment he released his grip. "You dragged me into this, Gill. I literally followed you to the ends of the universe. Now, just this once…can't you follow me?"_

 _Gilligan O'Gill, his partner, his comrade, the best friend he'd ever known, shook his head. "I can't."_

* * *

 _When Gill didn't show up in the Pelican bay the next morning, David-no, Agent Washington-wondered if he'd ever see his friend again. For the first time in his life, even after having lost his homeworld, Wash felt completely and utterly alone._

" _We can't wait anymore," the pilot sighed, flipping the switch that would close the Pelican._

" _Please, just give it a few more minutes," Wash pleaded. "I'm sure he'll be here."_

" _Sorry, kid," the female pilot replied. "I've got a schedule to keep, and the Director'll have my head if you're late for orientation."_

" _But what about Gi-I mean Agent Illinois?"_

" _Look, I just drive the plane. Your friend going AWOL is not my problem. Mother of Invention, this is 479er, go for takeoff."_

* * *

Wash opened his eyes. "What the hell?" he muttered, blinking at the bright lights around him. He held his palm to his head, trying to push down the ache that had come with remembering. Groaning, he tried to push himself up into a sitting position, but damn, it was painful.

Looking around, he saw his helmet laying beside him. Sighing in relief, he grabbed it, and after fumbling a bit, managed to shove it over the top of his head. The familiarity and tightness of it calmed him considerably, and it's dark visor provided some relief from the bright florescent lights.

A moment later, the double doors to his right burst open and a hurried Dr. Grey came in, rushing past him to a medicine cabinet at the other end of the room. Her white and purple armor was stained red, and Wash cringed at the sight of it, hoping it was from a patient, not a victim.

"Where is it?" she mumbled, scavenging through the cabinets.

"What are you looking for, Doc?" he asked.

She stopped dead in her tracks before turning her head slowly to look at him. "Agent Washington? What are you doing awake?"

He tilted his head awkwardly, unsure of how to answer that. "Umm...am I not supposed to be?"

After a brief moment of silence, she shook her head, trying to regain some composure. "No, it's just a little unexpected!" she replied happily. "Lay back down, and I'll be back to check up on you in a little while. Right now I have to deal with Crash." With that, she found what she'd been looking for, and hurried back out of the room, leaving Wash alone once more.

"Crash?" he wondered aloud, trying to peek through the little windows at the tops of the doors. Despite the doctor's orders, he pushed himself to a standing position. After testing his balance, he took his first few fumbled steps before crashing into the doors and stumbling into the white hallway. Leaning his hand against the wall to regain some balance, he nodded in the direction Grey had been heading.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Hey there!

Per usual, I'd like to thank you all for reading! I know this chapter was a long one, but I wanted to do something special to commemorate 10 Chapters and 2000 views.

To everyone who's reviewed: Thank you so much! I really appreciate it. Please continue! (Let me know what you guys think of Gilly and the Lucky Charms.)

Starting from now, it is my goal to update every Wednesday! So I'll see you all again next week! Can't wait to write the next installment!


	12. Chapter 11: The Blues

_The Blues. UAC FOB. Monitor Room. 1900 hrs._

Tucker groaned and banged his head on the table in frustration. They'd been at this for almost three hours now. "How. Can. This. Take. So. F*#&ing. Long?!" he called out, each word punctuated with his head hitting the table.

"Oh, quit your whining! I'm the one who's doing all the work here," Church retorted.

"Yeah, and it's f^&#ing boring as hell, dude!"

The AI was processing video footage from the day of the crash to determine who was near the missiles when they went off. The task was turning out to be a difficult one, as the closest surveillance cameras were further out of range than the transmitter the mole had used. That, and the fact the path to the mess hall went right through that area, made Church's job a lot harder.

"And...done!" the glowing blue man declared excitedly.

Tucker perked up. "What'd you find out?!" He scooted his chair closer to the wall of monitors that were connected to the server room.

"Well, based on video footage and my tracking algorithms, I've narrowed it down to about fifty or so people."

The room went dead silent for a good five minutes.

"What?"

"...Well, once we cross-reference the mess-hall footage we can-"

"Three hours, and you only narrowed it down to fifty people!? That's like half the base!"

"It's actually a tenth of the base, so, you're welcome."

"You have got to be kidding me!" Tucker yelled. "In what way does this help us?!"

"Only fifty people!" Church protested. "That's a lot less than the five-hundred we started out with this morning!"

"Grrraaaahh!" Tucker yelled, pounding his fists on the table. After a minute of heavy breathing to calm down, he quietly told his partner, "I need a break." Then he stormed out of the monitor room.

Church reappeared on his shoulder once he'd made it outside. "Come on, don't be like that. We've made progress! Maybe not a lot of it...but still!"

Tucker waved his hand through the AI's projection to try and get him to go away.

"What the hell, man? Stop that!" Church tried to swipe back at him, but...well, he's a hologram. When Tucker didn't stop, he switched to his other shoulder. "I'm telling you, the mess-hall footage will probably knock out like ten people at least!"

Tucker grumbled incoherently.

"At least, man! That only leaves us like-" They were passed by a Fed trooper who was looking at them rather suspiciously. "What're you looking at, assface?"

The Fed grumbled a reply.

"You're just jealous of my sword!" Tucker shouted at him as he walked away.

Church shook his holographic head before continuing where he'd left off, "Anyways, that leaves us like forty people tops. And once we sift through any outgoing transmissions-"

They passed through the doors to the medibay.

"Dude, what are we doing here? You always get all mopey and start bitching about Washing...ton. What the f#*&?"

They'd turned the corner to the hall that lead to Wash's ward only to find the steel-and-yellow soldier stumbling in the direction of the surgical wing.

"Wash?" Tucker muttered, before yelling, "Hey, Wash!"

The ex-freelancer turned to see who'd called his name, only to lose his balance and clatter to the floor.

"Oh, shit!" Tucker ran over to help. "You alright, man?" he asked, grabbing Wash by the shoulders to help him to his feet.

Wash groaned, "I probably should've listened to Grey when she told me to lay back down." He held his head with one hand and his stomach wound with the other, letting Tucker keep him steady. Lucky for both of them, he hadn't made it very far from his bed.

"I haven't had a headache this bad since…" he glanced up at Church who looked away guiltily before disappearing altogether. Tucker guided him back into the ward and plopped him back down on the bed before taking his usual seat next to him.

Wash fell back asleep nearly as soon as Tucker pushed him back into the pillows. How he'd managed to make it that far on his own after being unconscious for three weeks, the other blue had no idea.

Seeing his friend like this, Tucker couldn't decide what he felt more, relieved as all get out, or mad as hell. Sure, he had actually woken up. But dammit, he shouldn't have been in a coma to begin with! If he'd just listened to him in the first place instead of running off on some stupid solo mission…

For the next hour or so, he sat beside the bed, his mood going from one extreme to the other.

During that time, Carolina came in to visit.

"Don't you have anything else to do?" she asked moodily as she sat down on the other side of the Wash's bed.

Tucker didn't answer, although the AI in his head was pleading for them to let her in on the mole hunt.

" _Come on. We know she's not the mole, so let's just tell her_."

" _No!_ " Tucker thought firmly. " _Kimball said to keep this quiet, so that's what we're going to do._ "

" _But-_ "

" _But nothing, dude. You just want to get over the awkwardness because she's still mad at you._ "

The AI grumbled for a bit before going silent. For Tucker, this was a relief. How Carolina managed to stay sane having another voice in her head all the time was beyond him.

For a time, the room was silent but for the hum of the ceiling lights and Wash's shallow breathing. The two light blue soldiers sat wordless across from one another.

"He woke up, you know," Tucker told Carolina, trying to break the silence.

"What? When?"

"A while ago," he answered. "Found him wandering around. I don't think he knew where he was going."

"That's...that's good," she gave a slight smile. He could see it in her posture that she was relaxing a bit more. Sometimes it was easy to forget that she and Wash had known each other much longer than the rest of them. He'd never even stopped to think about how Wash being in a coma would make the redhead feel. "Did you get Grey to check on him?" she asked.

"Nah. When I found him he was mumbling something about her telling him to go back to bed, so I figured she'd already come by."

Carolina nodded understandingly before standing. "Well," she started, "sitting around isn't going to do any good. I'm gonna try and find Grey, see what's what…" She hesitated, "Church?"

Epsilon appeared in front of Tucker, looking up at the aqua soldier. "What?" he asked, his usual agitation seeming a bit forced.

She held out her hand, offering him his place back by her side. To her surprise, he shook his head, stepping back to be closer to Tucker. "We've got stuff to do," he explained.

"Oh."

"I'll...um...I'll see you around?"

She nodded, still a little bewildered by his rejection. Then she left.

After they could no longer hear her footsteps, Tucker turned to the AI. "Wow. Could you be any more melodramatic?"

"What?" Church said defensively.

"You're separated for a few hours and you act like you're never going to see each other again or something. Are you seriously that codependent?"

Yes. "No!"

Another hour passed after that, with various medical staff coming in and out to check on the newly awakened patient. During that time, Tucker got comfortable, grabbing one of the pillows from the empty bunks and snuggling into the side of the chair. He knew that the likelihood of Wash waking up anytime soon was slim, but he wanted to be there, if not to greet his friend then to scold him for being such an idiot.

For a while, he and Church discussed (argued over) other ways to pin down the mole. But, after a time, they became bored with the topic and wordlessly agreed to drop the subject.

Before they knew it, night had fallen, and Tucker had dozed off, leaving the Epsilon unit bored and frustrated. He'd already started going through the mess-hall footage, but without access to the server room, it was going to take a lot longer to process. Sure, he was a highly advanced artificial intelligence unit, but that didn't mean he couldn't use a little help every once in a while.

"You should have gone with Carolina." Delta popped up beside him. "Waiting for Agent Washington to regain consciousness is not an efficient use of time."

"Ugh. I don't want to hear it, D," he answered. "Sure, it's not as efficient, but we're still getting stuff done here."

"You feel guilty about having to leave Tucker again."

"No one asked you, Theta."

The other memory fragments ignored him as Delta expanded upon Theta's thought. "Now that Washington has recovered from his comatose state, Tucker's need for companionship will most likely be projected back onto him."

Church frowned, "That's not the point, Delta."

"Epsilon?"

The other fragments dissipated as Church turned to the sound. Wash was awake.

"Uh...Hey Wash," he muttered awkwardly. "What...What's going on with you?"

"How long was I out this time?" Wash asked, grunting as he struggled to a sitting position.

"Just a few hours."

The grey-and-yellow clad soldier sighed deeply. "Well, I guess that's a step up from another few weeks."

Church fidgeted. Last time Wash had been in a coma, it'd been because of him. Neither of them could help but feel the similarities between then and now. Sure, things between the two had been resolved, but that didn't make the situation any less uncomfortable.

"Church?"

"Yeah?"

"...When you…when you were in here," he tapped the back of his neck, "did you, I don't know, see anything?"

"Uh...Like what?"

"Like memories or...people...I don't know…"

 _No. I was a little busy going crazy and trying to kill myself._ "I don't think so."

Wash frowned.

"Why?"

 _Because I'm getting flashbacks of things I didn't know I'd forgot, and it scares the hell out of me._ "No reason."

"You wanna talk about it?"

"...No."

"Eh-ehm," Church cleared his non-throat, trying to ease some of the tension. "Well, it's about time you woke up. This guy was going crazy," he pointed behind him to Tucker who was hanging precariously off the side of the chair, snoring loudly. "Carolina'll be happy to see you too."

Wash gave a little half smile. "Well, I guess it's nice to be wanted."

All sorts of thoughts were running through his newly conscious head. Memories mostly...flashes of Gilly and their old squad, people he hadn't seen since he was just a kid; joining Project Freelancer was pretty prominent up there too.

 _The Director had gone into a little detail about the project over the weeks before, but he hadn't expected...well, this. Two purple-and-green clad soldiers stood before him, their armor glinting in the bright landing-bay lights. He'd never seen anything like them before. And sure, their color scheme was little to be desired, but the armor itself was freaking awesome. Was he going to get some like that?_

 _The taller, darker of the two reached for his hand. "I'm North," he said before gesturing to his partner, "This is South."_

" _Washington," he answered._

 _North took off his helmet to reveal a platinum-blonde man with a relaxed smile on his face. "Good to meet you, Wash," he said._

 _Wash? He opened his mouth to correct him, but then thought better of it. There were worse nicknames._

" _Come on, I'll give you the tour," North waved him over. South remained quiet, arms folded-over-chest reservedly._

" _How long have you been with the Project?" he asked, as they began to walk._

" _Not long," North answered. "I think the Director's trying to recruit as many as he can before we actually get into away missions. Everyone here seems pretty new."_

" _Hey, weren't you supposed to come with another agent?" South spoke for the first time._

Her _voice startled him. "You're a woman!"_

" _No shit. What'd you think I was?"_

 _His face went flush with embarrassment. "No, I just-I thought-I mean-come on, you…" he gestured at her and back at North and then over at the wall behind them._

 _North laughed heartily at him. "You sure got a way with words."_

 _He sighed, giving up any attempt to save himself. "I'll shut up now."_

Last time he woke up from an extended sleep, the Dakota twins had been with him…after Epsilon was removed. It'd been so long since then, since everything fell apart. What he wouldn't give to see North again… "Hey, this might sound weird, but is Theta with you?"

"I...he's just a memory fragment, he's not the real-"

"I know...I know, it's just…" It's the only thing close to North he had left.

"Okay. I'll go get him-Hi, Wash!" The glowy blue figure was replaced with an even shorter purple one messing around with a skateboard.

"Hi, Theta."

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay right now. How have you been?"

The young AI shrugged, rolling the board back and forth beneath his foot. "Everyone's been worried about you."

Wash absentmindedly touched the bandages around his chest. "Yeah, well, getting shot in the front wasn't nearly as bad as getting shot in the back."

Theta lost control of the board and it went sailing away from him, out of the projections reach. With nothing to distract himself with, Theta shifted around nervously on his toes.

"Sorry...I guess that wasn't exactly the best thing to bring up."

"It's okay."

"God, I shouldn't even be talking to you," he huffed, falling back into his pillows and rubbing his forehead.

"Talking helps sometimes," Theta told him, resigned to sit cross-legged next to the tired soldier. "North used to tell me stories whenever I got scared or sad."

"I miss him, Theta. I miss him and Maine and...and York. Even South sometimes, the b#*&* that she was. And I'm the one that shot her!...I just..." he glanced over at Tucker, remembering Gilly, "I'm tired of missing people."

"I'm sorry," he heard, but this time it was Church's voice.

Wash sighed, "It's not your fault."

"Doesn't mean I'm not sorry. You got f#*&ed over."

"Everyone got f#*&ed over."

"No, but you got the brunt of it. And I sure as hell didn't help any."

They were interrupted by a deep inhale as Tucker came to. "Ugh, my back! How the hell did I fall asleep like that?"

"Well, look who finally decided to join us," Wash mocked.

"Shut up," Tucker stood, stretching out. "And you're one to talk! Been almost three f#*&ing weeks, you jackass! Grey didn't even know if you were gonna wake up this time."

"Yeah, well, you can rejoice. I'm awake now."

"Rejoice, my ass," Tucker grumbled, sitting back down. "You're lucky I didn't finish the job," he pointed to Wash's wounds, "after the stunt you pulled."

"Stunt? What stunt?"

"Bunch of Lone Rider bullshit. Maybe next time you'll listen to me before running off and almost getting yourself killed," the teal soldier said indignantly.

"Would you stop?" Church huffed before turning back to Wash. "Seriously, he's been like this the whole time you were out."

"Sounds exhausting."

"Don't I know it."

Tucker folded his arms and leaned back in his seat. Of course they would gang up on him. To be honest though, he wouldn't have it any other way.


	13. Chapter 12: The Wandering

_UAC FOB. Medibay (Surgical Ward). 1830 hrs._

Crash stopped protesting treatment after they'd pumped her full of drugs. An eerie smile crept across her face as she stared unblinkingly at one of Grey's assistants. "I want your biscuits," she whispered to him when she thought no one else was looking. It wasn't long after that that she was completely knocked out so they could remove the bullet from her shoulder.

It didn't take them long to dig it out and sew her back up. In all honesty, Dr. Grey was more worried that she'd upset her head wound than anything else. Half an hour after the procedure, Crash regained consciousness, although the drugs hadn't completely worn off.

"Where's Grif?" she slurred at Grey. "He's got some mighty fine cheez-whiz." She licked her lips. "You know, Grif always said, 'Life's like a can o' cheez-whiz; you never know what you're gonna get.'"

"I can't even tell you how badly you misquoted that," Grey told her, trying to keep up the pep in her voice. Why, God, did she have to put up with this again?

"Mmmoh well," Crash sighed contentedly. "At least it's not snowing!" She started giggling. "F#*&ing Maine in the snow, man. Amiright?"

"Is that where you're from?" Grey asked, actually mildly curious.

"Where who's from?"

Grey sighed tiredly. "I'm gonna go look for your medication. I'll be right back."

By the time Grey returned to the recovery suite, Crash had disappeared. Reluctantly, she set out to search for the missing red.

* * *

Donut had been waiting outside the medibay, nervously pacing. He knew a thing or two about being shot, but that didn't make him any less anxious for Crash. What if Dr. Grey had a hand spasm in the middle of the operation and accidentally removed her heart instead of the bullet? Who knows what could go wrong in there?! "I'm sure she'll be fine," he muttered to himself. "Doctor Grey knows what she's doing!"

The next second, the doctor came bursting through doors, angrily ranting under her breath, "I can't believe I've lost another one!"

Donut stopped in his tracks upon overhearing her, breathing in sharply. "Oh god, no! You don't mean Crash?!" he asked, horrified.

Grey nodded. "I don't know what happened," she told him, "She was there one minute, and the next she was gone."

Donut sniffled. The doctor must have taken the loss pretty badly for her to be this upset about it. "I'm sorry, Doc," he tried to comfort her, barely holding back sobs himself. "I'm sure you did the best you could."

"Hmph. Well, I should have figured she'd be prone to wandering off," she then muttered something inaudible under her breath.

Donut sniffed. "Wandering off?" he questioned.

"Yeah. You haven't happened to see her, have you?"

A wave of relief washed over the lightish-red soldier, and he wrapped his arms around the Fed doctor. "You mean she's not dead!" he squealed happily.

"Unfortunately…" she answered, her normally excited voice lowering cynically.

"I'll help you look for her!" Donut suggested, still ecstatic from the good news.

"Wonderful."

* * *

Crash wandered a bit through the medibay before she became bored with the scenery and managed her way outside. The sun was leaning a bit, not quite ready to set, and the air was still warm. It was a refreshing change from the cold white halls, and she took it all in with a deep breath. Despite the fact she'd put in a full day out in the badlands, she couldn't help but want to be back out there. She loved the desert, and she loved this heat.

An image of a stark white field popped into her head, and she briefly remembered being cold...as cold as a person can get. _Maine in the snow_. F#* &. What did it mean?

Shivering back to reality, she kept moving. There was a building next to the medical bay that Grif had pointed out to her as the communications hub. Entering, the place was mostly deserted, allowing her to roam unimpeded. Trying them out one by one, most of the doors were locked, but when she got to the one at the end of the hall, it opened up to her.

"Well, if it isn't my good friend Carolina," Crash grinned predatorily. The aqua soldier was sitting in front of a row of monitors surrounded by various radio equipment. She pulled up a free swivel chair and sat down, scooting close to the other woman.

"Aren't you supposed to be in surgery?" Carolina questioned, clearly not amused by her presence.

"Just got out," Crash answered smugly, spinning around in the chair. "Hard time...it changes a person."

"Riigghht. Are you...high?"

"As a kite, my friend. As a kite. So tell me," she continued, "Is it North or South Carolina? I'm dying to know."

Carolina just huffed, clearly not wanting to be bothered with this at the moment.

"If you tell me your secret, I'll tell you mine," Crash whispered, egging her on.

"I thought you didn't remember anything?"

"I don't."

"Then how can you have a secret?"

"It's a secret."

Carolina rolled her eyes, "You're starting to sound like Caboose….Fine. I'll bite. It's just plain old Carolina, nothing else. So what's yours?"

"I found this," she said quietly, pulling out her picture from god knows where.

Curious, Carolina took the paper from her. "Is this you?"

Crash nodded.

"Who's the guy?"

"I don't know."

Carolina flipped it over, taking a look at the writing on the back. Weirdly enough, she recognized the penmanship. "Who is D?"

"I don't know."

Carolina continued to stare at the script. Where had she seen that writing before? She flipped the picture back over to study the face of the man next to Crash. Upon further examination, she concluded that she'd never seen him before in her life. So who wrote the message?

"Are you KC?"

"I think so...it sounds...okay, it still sounds weird. But it's the only thing that makes sense, right?"

Carolina nodded. "Wait, you didn't tell Sarge?"

Crash looked nervous. "I...I don't want to tell anyone."

"Why? This is something. This is your name. That's-"

"Significant," Crash finished.

"Yes."

"I know 'what's in a name?' and all that, but...I'm not this person. Whoever the hell KC was...that's not me anymore. You know? I mean, I don't even know what that stands for! Kentucky Chicken?" she shrugged her shoulders in bewilderment to exaggerate her point.

"I understand," Carolina replied solemnly. Then she thought back to the photo, "At least you know you're on the right team."

"Ha. Yeah. Never even thought about that."

"You know, if you were in the Red Army, we can get some of those records. Might be able to get your full name, at least. Maybe even figure out who the man in the picture is."

Crash hesitated. "I...I guess that would be good."

"It _would_ be good. Trust me," Carolina smiled reassuringly at her.

Crash smiled back. "Thanks." She took back the photo and put it back wherever she'd pulled it out from. "I guess you're not that bad."

Carolina held back a laugh, "Another ringing endorsement. Thanks a lot."

Crash blushed awkwardly, "Sorry. And for giving you such a bad time the other night…"

Carolina waved it off, "It can be difficult to figure out who your friends are. I learned that the hard way. But the Reds and Blues? They're the real deal. Best bunch of idiots I've ever met."

"And Agent Washington?"

"Wash? He's a good guy," Carolina answered, unsure exactly what she was asking.

"I know...I know that some people blame me for him being, you know."

Carolina frowned. "Don't worry about Tucker. He'll-" she wanted to say 'he'll come around,' but honestly, she'd never seen him this angry before. "-he'll be alright."

"Yeah...well, thanks. I'll see you later?" With that, Crash got up to leave.

"Wait, shouldn't you be in recovery?"

"What? No. I don't need to be there. What are you even talking about?"

"Okay, I'm taking you back. Come on," she grabbed Crash by the shoulders and led her back outside.

"Please! Don't make me go back! I don't want to go back!" Crash protested, but Carolina was much stronger than her, and she was still pretty wobbly from the drugs.

* * *

After dropping Crash back off in recovery, Carolina stopped in to check on Wash. To her dismay, Tucker and Church were already there. Of all the people she _didn't_ want to see… but when Tucker said that Wash had woken up, she couldn't help but feel overwhelmingly relieved.

Something about her interaction with Crash had put her at ease, and the news about Wash had made her feel that much more insouciant. Even when Church refused to come back into her armor, she let it go. Sure, it was weird not having him with her, but if he had other things he needed to do, who was she to deny him?

Instead of worrying about the AI, she focused on finding the doctor. She wanted to know that Washington would be okay, and Grey seemed to be the only competent physician on base.

* * *

"Where could she possibly go?!" Grey was beyond frustrated. She'd only been gone for five minutes, and for some reason beyond her understanding, no one had stopped Crash from wandering out of the Medibay in that time.

"Don't worry!" Donut attempted to cheer her up, "I'm sure we'll find her soon!"

"Hmm. Well, she mentioned something about Grif having cheez-whiz...maybe she went back to the barracks?"

"That's a little far, don't you think? I mean, she did just get out surgery."

They stood outside the back of comm center, having just checked inside to see if she had come by. (They missed her and Carolina by less than a minute.)

"Honestly? I wouldn't put it past her," Grey replied.

"Maybe someone found her and brought her back to recovery?"

Grey sighed, "I guess it wouldn't hurt to check...but I doubt it's going to be that easy."

Five minute later, they stood in the door of the recovery ward. Crash was sleeping soundly back in her bed.

"See! Things do work out!" Donut patted her on the shoulder.

Grey shook her head tiredly. She didn't know how much more of Crash she'd be able to take. "I better make she stays put," she grumbled, heading to the cabinets to pull out the restraints. No more chances with this one.

* * *

Not finding Grey anywhere in the medibay, Carolina headed back outside. "Where the hell is she?" she muttered to herself in frustration. For being the only real doctor on call at the moment, she wasn't doing a very good job of being around.

"Oh, Sarge!" she called out, seeing the red on his way to the mess hall. "Have you seen Dr. Grey around?" she asked him.

"No, I haven't!" Srage grunted back in his usual fashion. "Why? D'you lose her, blue?" he chuckled, as if he'd just burned her good with that 'blue' remark.

Carolina frowned, wishing Sarge was a little less insane and more helpful. "I guess Wash woke up," she explained. "I wanted to see what she had to say about it."

Sarge pouted. "Well, _I guess_ that's a good thing…" he rambled off at the end, muttering something about blue leadership.

She sighed, knowing the regulation red soldier wouldn't be any use to her in this matter. Of course... "Sarge, do you think you could take over monitoring comms while I look for her? The convoy is supposed to check in in a few minutes."

"Hmph. Is that an order, or a request?"

"...An order?"

"Dagnabit. I was actually planning on eating some real food tonight," he grumbled. "The blood of my enemies only goes so far, and Caboose is on that blasted convoy!"

"Thank-wait, what!?"

Before she could get an answer, Sarge had left to replace her at the comm center

* * *

 _Red Team Two. UAC Convoy. Highway 270. 2030 hrs._

"Hola." Lopez said flatly, answering Red Team Two's radio.

"Lopez!" Sarge called back, "Get Simmons on the phone! Pronto!"

The robot readily complied, handing the receiver over to the maroon soldier.

"Sarge?"

"Simmons! I've got some good news and some bad news!"

"Give it to me straight, Sarge. I can take it."

"Gay."

"F#*& off, Grif, I'm trying to listen!"

"Which do you want first, the good or the bad?"

"Uh...the bad news?"

"You're supposed to ask for the good news first, that way it softens the blow of what comes next," Grif told him, matter-of-fact.

"Oh, uh… the good news then?"

"Well, the good news, is that our newest recruit survived a gunshot wound in the line of duty!"

"Wait, Crash was shot?"

"What?", Grif leaned over to the comm. "Is she okay?!"

"Sarge, what happened?"

"Minor flesh wound," their CO reported casually. "Ambushed by Felix and those doggone pirates! Medics said she'll be fine."

Grif sighed in relief. At least it wasn't too bad.

"Wait...if that's the good news…"

Sarge sighed dramatically over the line. "The bad news, is that those dirty blues once again have a competent leader! Darn Washington waking up from his coma!"

"Oh, thank God," Simmons muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, sir!"

Sarge grumbled before changing the topic. "Anything to report from the convoy?"

"Mmm. That's a negative, sir. Although, we did have to stop early for fuel because Grif forgot to fill the jeep up all the way."

"Dammit Grif!"

"Hey! The pump was confusing! It kept doing the clicky thing early." Grif whined defensively.

"Only you could screw up filling a car up with gas," Simmons huffed, "Dumb ass."

Grif continued to complain, "Besides, isn't jeep maintenance Lopez's job?"

" _Keep me out of this,_ " the robot commented in Spanish.

"Don't give me that, Lopez. If you start slacking off, then what's the point of keeping you around? Oh, right, you can't tell us, because you only speak f#*&ing Spanish!"

"Hey, leave him alone," Simmons scolded the orange soldier. "He's just a robot, he can't help it if he makes mistakes sometimes."

" _Racist_."

"Stay out of this, Simmons. No one asked you."

"Both of you, shut it!" Sarge ordered. "And leave Lopez alone! He's probably done more in the last hour than Grif's done his entire career!"

"Hmph. I can't argue with that," Grif shrugged. "But that just means it's your fault for depending on me to do something in the first place!"

"You know, I hate to admit it, but that actually has some logic to it," Simmons thought aloud.

Grif changed the subject, "So I take it the crash site was a bust."

"Not completely. Managed to take out a few pirate outposts on the way, heh heh," Sarge informed them.

"Mm. You know, life and death situations aren't something I'm really fond of, but that actually sounds a lot more exciting than what we're doing over on this end," Simmons complained. "The only people to talk to are Grif and Caboose, and Kimball still hasn't told us what we're transporting!"

"You're just upset that Sarge's ass isn't here to kiss," Grif mocked.

"Seriously," Simmons ignored him, "Why couldn't we just use the future cubes like we usually do? I mean, unless it's something extremely volatile...Oh my gosh! What if we're transporting a nuke or something?! What if it blows!?"

"Quit speculating. I'm sure whatever it is, it's important."

"For once, I agree with Sarge. Why else would Kimball take half the base with us?"

"Doesn't mean it's not a nuke. We could all die any second now," Simmons mumbled.

"Dude, that's the case anyways. I mean, think about it, since when have our lives not been in constant danger? If we can go a full day without someone getting shot, I'd say we're doing okay."

"Well, you can count today off then," Sarge replied gruffly, and the maroon and orange soldiers paused to consider it.

"Yeah…" Grif muttered, clearly disheartened. "Look...um, wish Crash my best, will ya Sarge?"

Sarge hesitated, clearly reluctant to comply with any request coming from Grif. Finally he replied with a curt, "fine," before asking if they had anything else to report.

"No, sir," Simmons told him.

"Hmm. Well, remember to check in when you stop for the night," Sarge ordered.

"Will do, sir," Simmons complied.

"Over and out."


	14. Chapter 13: The Reunion

_UAC FOB. Medibay. 0900 hrs. (Convoy Day 2.)_

 _. . ._

" _Command! Command! This is Red Outpost 14 calling for immediate aid! Command, do you copy?! Dammit!"_

" _Keep trying, Sam!"_

" _Command! This is Red Outpost 14! Please respond!"_

" _Re- -utpost 14, this is comman- -. We're having a hard ti - - eading you, 14. Pl - - repeat."_

" _Command! Thank God! Outpost 14 calling for immediate aid!"_

" _Wha - - - - - situation, 14?"_

" _Aliens have attacked Blue Base. I repeat, Blue Base is gone! We need evac ASAP!"_

" _14, yo- - -reaking up. Sending a - - - - - -"_

" _Command! Command!"_

 _There was a crack in the distance as a beam of white light spread across the valley._

Crash shot up, gasping for breath, the back of her head pounding. A stinging pain jolted through her shoulder. "F*&#," she whispered, biting her lip for the pain. "F#*&," she repeated, tears dripping down her cheeks and falling to a puddle in her sheets. "Why can't I remember?!" She hid her face in her good hand, the sobs taking over. Every time her body heaved, she felt that much more pain; it only made her want to cry harder.

She didn't know why she was having such a hard time controlling herself. Maybe it was the fact that her dream had jarred a few memories loose, or maybe it was that none of those memories seemed to help her figure out who she was. She felt like her insides were burning, she was so desperate to know.

 _Who am I?_

* * *

Wash had spoken with Tucker and Church for a time before Carolina finally brought Dr. Grey in to check on him. Her initial inspection seemed to put him in the clear, but she demanded he rest more. Honestly he felt like he'd rested enough, but when the other blues left, he couldn't seem to keep his eyes open.

He woke up that morning feeling better than he had the night before, and was eager to get up and get moving after such a long period of inactivity. Tucker had left a note saying he and Church were busy on some 'special assignment' and he knew that Carolina would be occupied running things, what with Kimball out with the convoy unit.

His first steps were slow, painstakingly so, but that didn't stop him. He wanted to stretch! He wanted to move! He wanted to get as far away from the medical bay as he could. But by the time he reached the hall, he was exhausted. His legs didn't want to stretch or move, or work for that matter. And the wounds in his side and chest were mostly healed but not fully: every shift, every breath, put him in immense pain. That didn't stop him though.

He staggered, inch by inch, further up the hall. And when he reached the double doors that lead to the recovery ward he felt like he'd run a marathon. Grasping the wall for support, he pushed through to the other side, knowing there would at least be a place to sit in there.

As soon as he entered, he knew he'd made a mistake. A woman was sitting doubled over on one of the beds, one hand chained awkwardly to the siding while the other covered her face as she sobbed uncontrollably.

"Shit," Wash muttered, trying to grab the door back so he could steady his footing and go back outside. (Whatever was going on in here, he did not want to be privy to.) However, his hand missed the mark and ended up pushing the door back out again. It flung outwards before jolting back and crashing full force into his face. He clattered to the ground as gracefully as a dying duck.

"Ouch," he squeaked, having landed on his bad side.

* * *

Crash was startled out of her self-pity by a commotion at the door. Squinting through tear-blurred eyes, she saw Washington collapse in front of it and proceed to get hit repeatedly in the face by the swinging doors.

"Agent Washington?" she rasped. She hadn't realized her throat was so dry, and she started coughing.

"Oh god," she heard him whimper as the door swung back again. He was squirming on the ground, trying to find a way to get up that wouldn't upset his injuries.

Wishing to help, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and went to stand. However, she forgot that her one hand was chained to the side rails. As she stood, it caught her and she ended up falling, hitting the edge of the bed before collapsing to the floor, the rest of it capsizing along with her.

"Are you okay?" Wash called over, his own voice strained from pain.

"I'm okay!" she called back between coughs. Her shoulder was in even more pain now. She must have ripped the wound open again because blood was starting to soak through her underarmor. "Are you okay?"

Wash had scooted like an inchworm out of the doorway and propped himself up against the nearest wall. "I'm okay!" he parroted back.

Looking up, he saw that she was half buried in bedding, and the cot itself was tipped up on its side. Her chained hand hung precariously above her head as she leaned back against the bed. It was one of the most ridiculous things he'd ever seen.

Crash sighed, arching her back into the bed behind her. Readjusting her shoulder to try and ease some of the pain, she glanced across the way at Washington. He leaned limply against the wall, one hand pressed against his side while the other rested on the linoleum floor. His disheveled blonde hair stuck out in every direction.

A smile slowly widened across his face before he burst out laughing.

"What are you laughing at?" she called out, coughing once more as if for good measure.

He was too busy chuckling to get a word out, so he pointed to her with his free hand.

Every time he looked back up at her, she just looked more and more ridiculous, and he knew he probably didn't look any better.

"That's not even right," she commented before a reluctant grin took over her own features. She could see him cringe with every sharp intake, and yet he continued to laugh at her. He was so awkward, she couldn't help but laugh back at him.

When he heard her, it only made him laugh that much harder, "Thats...haha...that's not even a real laugh!" he called over to her. It sounded like she was hiccuping on a loop.

"Yuc-yuc...it is too!" *snort.*

"Ahahaha!" he was doubled over laughing.

"Yuc-yuc-yuc!"

"This...haha...hurts...hahaha...so bad!"

"Yuc...oh god...yuc-yuc!" Tears of laughter streamed down her already soaked face.

After a few cycles of brief respites and more flurries of laughter, they both managed to calm themselves. Out of breath and in more pain than he'd care to admit, Wash attempted to stand again. "I'll help you up," he told her, his face still stuck in smiling mode.

"Yeah? And who's gonna help you up?" she asked, grinning herself.

"The show of faith is really appreciated. Thank you for that."

"Seriously though," she shifted to a kneeling position. "I think it's gonna be easier for me to get up than you. I only have the one bullet wound."

"Maybe...but I'm not chained to a bed."

"Hmm. Yeah, that might complicate things."

"Look, just stay there, and I'll help you flip it back."

She huffed, "Fine." At least chivalry wasn't dead. Then again...he had spent the last five minutes or so laughing at her.

Latching onto a nearby counter, Wash pulled himself to a semi-standing position. His back was still supported by the wall, but at least he was on his feet. Smiling at his so-far success, his pride took a blow when he heard sarcastic clapping coming from Crash. He flipped her off in response, and she started chuckling.

"Don't do that! You start laughing again, I'll start laughing, and then we'll never get off the damn floor!"

"Sorry."

Luckily it wasn't the walking that was difficult so much as it was the standing. And now that he'd managed that much, he had confidence he could make it over to her bed alright.

As he trucked along Crash managed to pull herself up as well, so by the time he reached her they were both more or less up and about.

"Hey," she said softly, their proximity no longer requiring shouting.

"Hey."

"You ready to move this f#*&er?"

He smiled. "Yeah. Are you?"

"Oh yeah."

"Okay," he looked over their predicament. "Hmph. Well, maybe if you walk around to the other side-"

"We can flip it from there. Yeah, that should work."

She maneuvered around so that she was on the opposite side of the bed. "Can you lean down?" she asked.

"I'll manage."

Frowning, she grabbed the siding, ready to pull it to her once he was in position. "You got it?"

"I said I'll manage," he repeated stubbornly. His face contorted in pain as he leaned over to grab the side that was on the floor. "...Got it."

"On three?"

"Just pull already!"

"Impatient much?" she grunted, pulling her side back and down while he lifted his up.

In reality, it wasn't that difficult of a task, but for the wounded soldiers they found it quite a feat.

"Ha! We got it!" Crash raised her free hand for a triumphant high-five.

"I never had any doubts!" he lied.

Sighing in relief, she sat back on the bed, happy to not be on the ground anymore. Wash came and sat down next to her.

"That took entirely too much effort," he pouted.

"What, the bed?"

"No. Just getting over here," he pointed to the door. "I only came from down the hall, and I feel like crap."

"Well, you were in a coma for three weeks. That certainly doesn't help a guy any."

"Yeah...wait, how did you-?" he stared deep into her eyes, trying to get a read on her.

"I'm the-"

"Deaf amnesiac," he realized.

She was going to say 'the girl from the crash site,' but 'deaf amnesiac' was just as apt. Nodding to him, she gave a sheepish smile. "I've actually been meaning to thank you. You saved my life that night."

He just kept on staring at her. "You can hear now?"

"Yeah! I got some fancy shmancy hearing aids." She turned her head so he could see better. "See?"

He did see. And he also saw the bandage on the back of her head. "Is that…? You know, the head thing?"

"Why I can't remember anything? Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

She shrugged, turning back to smile at him. "If anyone should be sorry, it should be me. If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't be all shot up right now."

"Part of the job."

"Still. I owe you, a lot."

He looked back down at his hands. She watched him, trying to figure out what he was thinking. He started, "Do you re-" just as she said, "How are you-" And they both stopped, embarrassed. "You first," she told him.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Right. I was gonna ask if you remembered anything. From before, that is."

She shook her head. "No. Not really. Although, there is one thing...I just can't seem to make any sense of it."

"Yeah?" he encouraged her to continue.

"I remember white. Like snow...but something else. And this phrase just keeps going through my head on a loop."

"What is it?"

"Maine in the snow."

"That's kind of vague," he answered. Of course the name Maine just made him think of his old partner, but 'Maine in the snow' could mean anything to someone else.

Still, he couldn't help but mull it over in his brain. Had Maine ever had a mission in the snow? Maybe when the Mother of Invention crashed… But no. That didn't seem right either. By then he was the Meta. Maine was...he was gone.

'Maine in the snow,' was really, really vague. _So why could he picture it so clearly?_

Crash watched as his his face went from intrigued to thoughtful, and then to something else entirely. Wash was pale white when he turned back to face her, studying her every feature with his eyes.

"Agent Washington?"

Without another word, he forced himself to stand, grimacing all the while, and then he hobbled out of the recovery ward.

"Washington!" she called out, but he ignored her. She stood to follow, but she was still chained to the bed. There was no way she could drag it along with her, not with it holding her bad arm. "Dammit Grey!" she cursed under her breath before calling out again, "Wash!"


	15. Chapter 14: The Lull

_UAC FOB. Communications Tower. 2100 hrs. (Convoy Day 1)_

After his talk with the rest of Red Team, Sarge was feeling okay about the Convoy. Okay enough to start mentally prepping to join the rest of his team. All he'd need is for Crash to get the all clear to move.

Yep. It was all just a matter of time.

After a half hour or so, Carolina came back with two fresh cups of coffee and a pink clad Donut.

"Any word from the Convoy?" she asked, handing Sarge a cup.

"Spoke with the rest of Red Team," he replied gruffly. "Everything's going peachy."

Carolina nodded, leaning on the desk and sipping on her coffee. From the steam alone, he could tell the drink was scalding hot. But she downed it anyway. Glaring, he asked, "How you feeling, blue?"

Donut, who had sat down quietly in the swivel chair next to Sarge, eyed Carolina curiously at the suggestion. "You do look a little flush," he commented with concern.

Carolina just shrugged. "It's been a long few days. I'll be fine."

"You know, it's never good to overdo it!" Donut preached, wagging his finger at her pointedly.

"Pinky's right," the soldier in red agreed, taking a sip of his own drink, and immediately regretting it as the boiling coffee blistered the back of his throat. Coughing to clear it, he continued, "wouldn't hurt to get some rest."

"I can rest when the Convoy's safely in Armonia. Until then-"

"Until then, even badass freelancers need their beauty sleep. Base'll still be standin' in the morning. Get some shut eye." Sarge was clearly not taking no for an answer.

"What about comms?" she asked.

"Me and Sarge will cover it!" Donut suggested enthusiastically.

Sighing concedingly, Carolina gave in, "You'll come get me if anything happens?"

Donut nodded with a grin.

"I'll see you later then."

Before heading to her bunk, Carolina stopped by Wash's ward to see how he was doing. Peeking in, she saw that Church was out, whispering quietly with Wash as Tucker hung haphazardly over the arm of his chair. Curious, she stayed back, trying to get a sense of what they might be talking about. When the blue AI shifted into the magenta color indicative of Theta, she backed away.

Crash was still in the recovery bay, fast asleep when the aqua-armored ex-Freelancer passed by. When Carolina saw she'd actually been restrained to the bed, she couldn't help but smile. God, Grey really wasn't putting up with the newbie.

With a tired sigh, she went on, taking the time to enjoy the cooler night air on her way to the barracks.

* * *

 _UAC FOB. Comms. 0300 hrs._

Donut had had a long day. Calling Carolina out on lack of sleep might have been a little hypocritical if he was really being honest with himself. But he figured his natural pep would keep him going for a few more hours at least, and Sarge's inability to experience fatigue would help. Still, sitting alone in the comms room with Sarge and a squeaky-ass swivel chair wasn't doing his tired body much good.

Finally he knew he had to speak or fall prey to the wily sand-man. "Sooooo…" he began, getting Sarge's attention.

The other red looked up at him from where he'd been staring vacantly into the coffee mug Carolina had brought him.

"What d'you think of the new girl?" Donut gossiped. "She seems to be pretty popular with folks."

"Heh," Sarge had a smile in his voice. "Regular firecracker, that one. And not a half-bad soldier, if I do say so myself."

"You think she'll be good for Red Team?" Donut asked, genuinely curious.

"Might be too soon to tell. l'm just glad those dirty blues didn't get to her first. Might've corrupted her crimson! If you know what I mean."

Donut nodded solemnly. "I sure do, Sarge!"

Gruffing in affirmative, the older soldier turned back to his cup.

"Sarge?" Donut asked.

"Mmm?"

"You think we'll be able to regroup with the convoy tomorrow?"

"...We'll see." Sarge answered cryptically. "Why don't you get some rest, Private. We can discuss it in the morning."

"Sir?"

"Go ahead, Donut."

"Okay, Sarge," he nodded. "Have a good night, then!"

"Mmm."

* * *

 _UAC FOB. Recovery Bay. 1030 hrs. (Convoy Day 2)_

The first few minutes Crash sat waiting for Wash to come back. Her heart was racing for so many different reasons and she was having a hard time wrapping her head around the fact he'd left her there. Part of her wanted to believe he was going to get Dr. Grey, or maybe a nurse to release her. The more sensible portion of her mind knew from the look in his eyes that her predicament was the last thing going through his head. Meanwhile, an uncanny sense of dread seemed to fill the back of her consciousness-a voice that told her their entire interaction had been nothing more but a delusion: he hadn't stumbled through the door, collapsing to the ground, she hadn't fallen out of her bed like a clutz, they hadn't spent five whole minutes laughing at one another's ridiculousness…and they certainly hadn't had what most would consider 'a moment'.

But they _had_ had a moment. She could still feel the weight of his presence beside her, and that lingering sense of...of wholeness that came when he was near, almost as if she remembered, as if she knew who she was. Now, in his absence, all the hurt of unknowing came washing over her like a tidal wave.

* * *

Wash hadn't made it far past the recovery ward when he was spotted by a rebel doctor who dragged him back to his cot and proceeded to lecture him on the merits of bedrest. Of course, he wasn't paying attention to a damn word the man said.

" _How much further?" he radioed the man not two meters ahead of him. Even though they were almost near enough to touch, the howling wind made it impossible for them to communicate directly with one another. Not that comms were much more effective- static from the weather interfered heavily with the clarity of their messages._

 _The figure in front of him turned slightly, visually reaffirming contact. "_ -ot much-krzzzt," _Maine's growl relayed into his helmet._

 _He nodded for the larger man to continue upwards and onwards, glad his partner's stature made up for how well his armor seemed to disappear into the landscape. Everything in all directions was white. And the furious flurry of snow that came down around them wasn't helping much. Wash could barely see his own hands, let alone the gold dome that shielded Maine._

"The -ath will-easier once-get to the tunnels."

" _I hope you're right," he responded bleakly. He was tired of the snow already, and it'd only been a few hours...he couldn't imagine what it was like for the sim troopers who'd been stranded out in this for months._

"Agent Washington."

He fell back into reality only to see Dr. Grey had joined the other doctor. They both were looking down at him expectantly.

"Sorry?"

" _I asked_ what you were doing out of bed in the first place," the rebel doctor repeated.

"Stretching my legs," he answered promptly.

The man harrumphed and Grey's head tilted quizzically.

"Three weeks is a long time to be immobile," he justified, shrugging.

" _They've been here recently. We must have just missed them," he mused, kneeling to rifle through the sleeping arrangements on the cold rock floor._

" _Left in a hurry," Maine stated, and Wash looked up to the cavern wall he'd been examining._

" _Are those…"_

" _Plasma."_

" _Shit." Plasma burns meant-_

"Earth to Washington!" Grey chimed.

Wash frowned, blinking away the memory once more.

The other physician was gone...How long had he been out of it to've missed that?

"You with me?" Grey asked.

He nodded.

"If I might make a suggestion," she sang, "If you're going to get out of bed after explicitly being told not to, don't get caught! Or I'll be forced to restrain you!" How her voice remained cheerful even as she threatened him was extremely unnerving, even to the veteran freelancer.

"Won't happen again," he promised quietly before leaning back into his pillows.

"Good," she agreed before heading out.

Wash laid back and stared up at the blank white ceiling, willing himself not to fall asleep. Sleeping meant dreaming and dreaming meant remembering. And right then, he wasn't in the mood. The flashbacks had gotten worse since the coma, and seeing Copper like that had unraveled memories he hadn't known he had.

His heart beat faster at the thought of _Maine in the snow._ Even now he could see it: the rough mountain terrain covered in white. He could feel the chill, even through his armor; hear the wind howl and thunder through the peaks and the canyons below. Could feel the dull ache in his legs after climbing for what seemed like days; never a respite, only silent coaxing on from his partner.

"Um...Wash?"

Blinking to focus his eyes, he saw he'd been joined by Carolina. "Boss?" he asked, mildly confused by the way she was looking at him.

The redhead was frowning worriedly. "You're crying."

Putting a hand to his cheek, he felt the wetness. "Oh."

The woman in aqua sat down beside him in the chair usually occupied by Tucker. She leaned back into it authoritatively, resting her heavy steel boots on the edge of his hospital bed. Squinting with those fierce green eyes, she seemed to be studying every inch of him.

Wash fidgeted uncomfortably under her gaze. "What?"

"You're...acting odd."

"Define odd," he replied defensively. Crossing his arms over his chest in indignation.

"Church said you'd asked about Theta."

"And that's odd?"

"No," she hesitated, "Actually, yes." Her gaze turned to the monitor on her right, which was much more interesting than it had been a minute ago. "You never want to talk about that."

"'That?' As in Freelancer? You can say the name. It's not gonna kill me to hear it."

"Wash," she said his name softly, gently. As if she didn't want to rile him up. The same way…

" _How do you feel, David?" the Counselor spoke softly, a false warmth echoing over the chill that always came when he opened his mouth._

 _Wash didn't answer. He wanted to scream, wanted to shout that his name wasn't David. His name was Agent Washington. Church, no, the Director. The Director had given him the name. Leonard Church. Church and Allison. Allison. Allison. Allison._

 _F%^$, his head hurt._

His voice caught in his throat as he went to speak. All that came out was a strangled, "Drop it."

And with that, she was more than willing to comply.

A tense silence filled the space between them as they attempted to navigate through the discomfort and find a path that would be okay to tread.

"I'm glad you're awake," Carolina finally settled on. He'd been out of it for three weeks, and she meant it. Training the Lieutenants was awful enough, but having to run the base alone in Kimball's stead while the convoy was out...Let's just say she would be grateful once he was well enough to take back some of his duties.

Wash went quiet as he tried to discern if he could be considered 'glad' also. Ever since waking up, he'd been assaulted with flashbacks. None of them substantial enough to be of any use, and yet they all seemed to leave him with a sinking feeling in his gut. He felt like he was literally 'dying to remember.' And was well and ready to be done with whatever shitty phase in his life this was.

Instead, he settled on, "It's good to see you too."

* * *

After seeing Carolina enter into Wash's ward, Dr. Grey felt comfortable leaving him be. She was on her way to make rounds when she heard shouting from recovery.

"HELLO?"

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she started heading for the noise.

"HELLOOOO!"

When she pushed through the double doors, she saw one very pissed off Crash sitting on her cot, which had scooted a meter away from the wall it'd been pushed against the night before. Seeing the doctor, the amnesiac glared. "Where the f#*& have you been?!"

"Well," Grey started, but was interrupted by the other woman's yelling.

"You left me strapped to this goddamn bed all morning, you jackamuffin! Finally someone comes in, and what do they do? They just leave again! It's f#*&ing bullshit, man!"

"Please calm down. Or I will be forced to sedate you!" Grey told her, half hoping Crash would continue to yell.

Instead, the copper soldier huffed, fuming silently.

"Isn't that better?" Grey asked cheerfully.

"Oh yes. I feel infinitely better about you and this whole situation."

"Well, you're welcome!" Dr. Grey nodded in affirmation, choosing to ignore the dry sarcasm just to tick Crash off more. "Now, if you're done shouting, I'll check out your stitches." She stepped in to push away Crash's sleeve and get a better look at her shoulder. She'd seen the blood stains all the way from the door and had guessed she'd torn them, but a closer inspection was still necessary.

"It opened again," Crash said, sounding the opposite of amused. "Forgot I was still strapped to the stupid cot and I tried to get up."

 _I guess that's what you get for being a pain in the-_ Grey thought briefly before dismissing the notion. At this point even she was having a hard time justifying her dislike for the woman in front of her. "I'll have to sew you back up. It'll take fifteen minutes or so. Think you can sit still that long?"

"I've been sitting still all day," Crash complained. "What's fifteen more minutes?"

"That's the spirit!"

Crash grumbled.

* * *

 _Felix's Squad. Highway 290. 1300 hrs._

"Do you have visual?"

"Oh, I've got 'em alright," Felix confirmed. Lowering his rifle, he turned to the lackey at his side, "Tell the other squad we'll meet them at the rendezvous in twenty. The convoy's headed right for them."

The soldier in black merely nodded before leaving to follow the command. In the mean time, Felix took a moment to relax. After yesterday's fiasco, he and Locus had agreed their main focus should be on the convoy. Locus's source still didn't know what was being transported, but at this point letting their enemies reach Armonia was something they weren't willing to risk.

Casually glancing to see that his subordinate was out of earshot, Felix spoke quietly over comms, "Are we all set as far as the 'side project.'"

He heard a grunt from the other end of the line, and could easily imagine the smirk across his partner's face. "Even with the delays, we're nearly ready for activation. The monitor station will be ready within the week."

"And what if she remembers before then?" Felix asked, trying his best to hide the discomfort in his voice.

"Then we hope she remembers everything."

Felix nodded. He turned his gaze back to the dust that now lingered in the canyon. Without his scope, he could just make out the last two warthogs taking up the rear of the group. In the day and a half he'd been following the caravan, they'd made it well over half way to the capital and the rest of Chorus's army. If he wasn't so biased, the orange and grey mercenary would've been impressed; they were making good time.

Why they were taking the road at all when they had those nifty little teleportation cubes was beyond him. The way they'd left themselves wide open and on the most traveled road on the little planet made him uneasy. It was as if they wanted to be ambushed. Of course, in the end none of that really mattered, because they were going to be ambushed one way or the other. They'd baited the lure, all that was left for him to do was bite. And even if Kimball did have something up her sleeve, he was gonna put up one helluva fight.

"Sir, Squad 4's just arrived at the rendezvous point. They're just waiting on us now," the grunt returned, relaying the message.

"We ready to go?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then get the f#&^ in the car, Davies. We've got a long drive to get through."

* * *

 _UAC FOB. Monitor Room. 1600 hrs._

"Are you paying attention or not?"

Tucker glanced up at the floating blue figure. "What?"

Church sighed dramatically. "If I have to go over this one more time, I swear—"

"I don't get it…"

"Get what?"

"I don't feel any different."

"…What?"

"I thought I was mad 'cause Wash was still out of it, but now that he's up I still don't feel any different. Shouldn't I be, I don't know, happy or something?"

Church shifted uncomfortably. He hated talking about feelings and shit. "Maybe it just hasn't sunk in yet?" he suggested warily, hoping to end the conversation before it really began.

"Maybe," Tucker acquiesced, although he remained pouty.

"Look, the mess hall footage knocked fifteen people off our list. That's even more than we hoped for. So let's focus on finding the mole, and you can worry about all that other crap later."

Tucker rested his head on the desk. "Dude, I'm just sitting here while you do your computer thing. What the hell's the point?"

 _Oh gosh, he was going to be mopey about it._

"Just because I'm doing all the computer stuff doesn't mean you can't help. Once I start really narrowing it down, we're gonna need a better way to single out exactly who the mole is. If you start brainstorming now, then by the time we get to that point, we might be able to—"

"I think I'm just gonna go to bed."

"Oh, come on! You can't just leave. This is supposed to be your job!"

"And I'm not doing anything! I haven't done a single thing since Kimball gave me this!" he pulled out the coin shaped detonation device.

Church stared at the little purple light. "Is that…is that a transponder?"

"What?"

"Is that the thing that set off the other thing?"

"Oh…Yeah?"

Church had to take a moment to collect himself. "You had that with you the whole time, and you didn't feel like sharing?"

Tucker might be a little dim, but he wasn't dim enough to not see the direction this conversation was going. Even though Epsilon was just a projection, he could see the AI quaking with growing rage.

"Um…" he trailed off nervously.

"God, Tucker!"

"What? Kimball said the transmission radio or whatever was only like thirty meters or something."

"You mean the radius?"

"Whatever! Besides, whoever set it off wouldn't still have the trigger thing or...whatever it's called, right?"

"Dude, have you seen the people around here? Because most of them really are as dumb as they look. I'd say the chances of someone being stupid enough to hold onto the transmitter are decent enough."

"So you can use this?" Tucker held up the device. "But, wouldn't we have to get close to whoever the mole is? Like physically?"

"Not if I boost the signal," Church replied smugly. And with that, he jumped into the blinking object, the purple light flashing blue.

After half an hour of waiting anxiously for the AI to emerge from the apparatus, Tucker jumped back as Epsilon appeared before him. Collecting himself, he leaned in close to the glowing figure, trying to read his 'body' language. He hesitated, "Did you...did you get it?"

Church puffed up his chest, "Oh, I got it all right."

Before he could speak again, the door to the monitor room shot open. Carolina stepped in, fully armored up and looking ready for battle. "Grab your gear. We're regrouping with the convoy."

Tucker gaped.

Church nodded before giving the teal soldier a knowing look, "Perfect timing."

* * *

 **A/N:**

Hey there!

I know what you're thinking: It's about freaking time!

First off, I'd like to thank all the people who reviewed last chapter! You guys are wonderful, and you're feedback is so important to me. Secondly, I'd like to say thanks to all of the people who followed and favorited this story while I was on hiatus. Thank you all so much for reading, and I appreciate all the love you've given this piece!

While I can't promise to update chapters regularly again, I am gong to do my best to not take three months to produce the next chapter. I swear, Ch 14 just hit me hard, and I couldn't get through the blasted thing. Hopefully I'm over my writers block, and I look forward to getting the rest of this story out to you as soon as possible. Thanks for bearing with me!

As always, thanks for stopping by, and reviews are always welcomed!


	16. Chapter 15: The First Shot

_Red Team Two. Highway 300. 1530 hrs._

The convoy was made up of three covered jeeps, seven warthogs, and air support provided by two falcon helicopters. Scouting ahead were two mongooses, manned by armed-to-the-teeth Republic soldiers. Two of the covered jeeps were filled with support troops in case of attack. The third's contents were known only to General Kimball, and the truck was driven by the rebel leader herself.

Red team two, under the shared command of Captains Grif and Simmons were in the second to last warthog with Grif driving and Simmons riding shotgun. Lopez manned the turret in the back, his silence a stark contrast to the bickering up front.

"Why are you even complaining?!" Simmons shouted, "You volunteered to drive!"

"Only so they wouldn't make me pilot one of those helicopter things!" Grif whined back defensively. "You know how much I hate flying!"

"Then you should be happy you're on solid ground!"

"All I'm saying is, why can't Lopez drive? I mean, come on! We don't even get to switch out? What if I fall asleep at the wheel? What if my eyes glaze shut after hours of watching the road? It's unhealthy!"

"Are you seriously trying to play the 'healthy' card? You?!"

"Hey! Just because I'm on an all-carb diet doesn't mean I don't care-"

"You smoke inside your armor!"

"Smoking is a natural relaxant. It's good for my muscles."

"WHAT THE F#&^ ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?! Smoking has never been good for you! And half of them aren't even your muscles, you organ stealing fatass!"

"Oh my god. You can't tell me you're still bitter about the whole cyborg thing. It's been years! Get over it!"

"I was in perfect health! I had the lung purity of an infant! And you ruined that a day after you got them!"

"'Lung purity?' Where the hell did you even come up with that?"

"It's a thing!"

"It is not. You just made it up to try and make me feel bad."

"...Is it working?"

"No."

"Goddammit, Grif!"

"Captainsth?" Jensen's lisp came through over comms.

"WHAT?!" they yelled back in unison.

"Ugh…" she slurred, "We're picking up movement behind the convoy."

Without word, Lopez spun the turret to face the opposite direction. Simmons sat up in his seat and did the same, squinting into the distance. However, it was difficult to see anything clearly past all the dust being picked up by the last warthog.

"F&^$," Grif muttered, glancing in his mirrors. "Lopez, can you see anything?"

" _I'm reading two jeeps on thermals_ ," the robot replied in Spanish.

"Shit! Lopez doesn't see anything! Tell Bitters to watch his rear."

Simmons turned back to man the radio. "Lieutenants," he signaled to the rebels riding in the jeep behind them. "We're reading bogies behind you!"

The next second, they saw an RPG shoot through the dust cloud and connect with the vehicle behind them. It hit the ground beside Bitter's front wheel and exploded, sending shrapnel flying everywhere and bursting the tire.

"Taking fire! Taking fire!" Matthews' voice came through as their jeep was lost in a cloud of smoke and dirt.

The cloud lit up like lightning as the last warthog returned fire on whatever was attacking them. There was a burst of red, and Matthews' comm shorted out.

"Bitters!" Grif yelled.

Simmons stared wide eyed as they left their comrades in the dust. "Kimball," he breathed out, "We've lost Jeep 7."

"…Survivors?"

"I—I don't know," Simmons voice shook.

"Break off. The rest of the convoy keeps moving."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"F*&^ing shit," Grif cursed as he stepped on the brake.

"Katie!" Simmons radioed the vehicle in front of them. "You and Andersmith are in the rear now!"

"Yesh, Captain!"

* * *

 _UAC FOB. Comms. 1300 hrs._

Donut had taken over communications from Sarge as soon as he'd woken up and gotten some nice herbal tea down his throat. The red Colonel had gone, presumably to repair Crash's armor, and the lightish-red Private settled into his spot.

Throughout the day, Carolina was in and out, making sure Donut had everything under tabs while multitasking four or five other duties. After he assured her for a third time that he had it covered, she finally took his word and left to check on Agent Washington. As far as the red knew, she still hadn't spoken to him since he woke up the day before, and a chat between the ex-Freelancers was long overdue.

Around noon he'd gotten a status report from Caboose on the convoy. Through all of the blue's incoherent drabble he'd managed to make out that they were making better than good time, and would be arriving in Armonia much earlier than predicted. That and the fact they hadn't come across a single pirate had the pink soldier in high spirits, allowing some of the worry that had plagued him the night before to dissipate into a dull concern in the back of his mind.

Not long after that, he'd been joined by the red's newest edition who was uncharacteristically quiet.

Crash sat backwards in the squeaky swivel beside him, her chin resting on the back of the chair while her eyes stared at Donut's monitor. She yawned and he caught it, yawning right back. "Geez, you shouldn't do that. Just looking at you is making me sleepy," he complained.

Blinking, she glanced over at him. "It's been a long day," she moped. Her eyes falling sadly away and going dead as she turned back to the screen.

At this point he didn't know her well enough to figure if she was genuinely depressed or just a very dramatic person. Based on the tendencies of most of the soldiers he'd come across, he was guessing the latter.

"Cheer up, Crash! It can't be all that bad!" he gave her his brightest smile and lightly punched her shoulder as a show of camaraderie.

She just huffed and turned away. Srrreeehhhaaaawww, her chair squeaked.

But for the shrieking chair, silence passed between the two as Donut tried to think of something that might put the woman in better spirits. "You know, Sarge should be almost finished with your armor by now," he attempted.

For the first time since he'd seen her that day, she perked up a little. "Yeah?" she asked.

He nodded, ecstatic that it seemed to be working. "He's been at it since early this morning. I wouldn't be surprised if it's clean and polished already!"

It was clear that Crash was trying not to show how excited she was at the prospect, and doing a poor job of it. "He's just in his workshop?"

Donut smiled, "Yep."

Crash cleared her throat. "Maybe I should, I don't know, stop by or something? He wouldn't mind, right?"

"Not at all!" Donut hoped.

She nodded before standing and stretching a bit, halting when she felt the strain in her shoulder. "Aw, shit," he heard her mumble before pulling her sleeve over to check the stitching. "If I tear these again, Grey's gonna have a fit."

"Again? Didn't you just get those yesterday?" Donut asked quizzically, not being able to imagine a scenario in which she could have ripped her stitches already.

"If Grey hadn't cuffed me to the stupid bed and f#&^ing Agent Washington hadn't come in and fallen over," she started to ramble. "Finally gets up, and what does he do? F&^#ing leaves me there."

Clearly she was mumbling to herself more than to Donut, but being the busybody that he was, he couldn't help but listen in. The hurt that spread across her features at the mention of Wash was beyond apparent.

"Crash?" he finally stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "You alright?"

"No," she answered bitterly. "But I will be eventually," she assured him.

* * *

Sarge had been busy in his workshop nearly all morning. The only break he'd had was lunch, in which he bumped into a less than friendly Tucker who was whispering oddly to himself about 'mess hall footage,' whatever the hell blue-speak that was.

By the time Crash came around a little after noon, he'd finished repairing her chest piece and had been modifying the recovered flamethrower attachment. When he noticed her enter, he took the time to eye her up and down before shrugging gruffly. "You don't look all that injured," he told her.

She frowned, "I don't feel all that injured. But doctor's orders; gotta give my shoulder a rest."

"Even in armor?" he asked, pulling out her helmet and handing it over.

She took it and looked into the dark-green visor, her reflection staring back at her. Upon seeing it, she dropped her gaze. "Donut said you might have it repaired by now."

"That I do." He crossed his arms over his chest, nodding over to the table where her armor lay strewn.

She took a moment to look it over, noticing Sarge's latest project off to the side. "Let me guess," she turned to face him, "Still can't touch the flamethrower."

"You'd be guessing right."

She sighed.

"But I do have this for you." He held out a small machine gun for her to look over. "Point and shoot didn't seem to be working out for you. Seem like more of a spray and pray kinda gal."

"I don't know if I should thank you or be offended," she muttered, checking the magazine count and assessing the weight of the weapon in her hands.

"That'd be entirely up to you," he answered.

"Well then…thank you, sir." He watched as she continued to inspect the SMG. Even if she couldn't remember her name, muscle memory was still there, and she handled the gun the way any soldier would. Which is what was putting him ill-at-ease. Because the Reds and Blues of Blood Gulch weren't soldiers. Not in any traditional sense, anyways. They were all just a bunch of idiots who'd been handed weapons and told to shoot each other. And while they'd grown to be more, a reluctant soldier isn't the same as a willing one. Because a reluctant soldier allies himself with his heart, whereas a willing soldier exists to follow orders. Sarge had been the latter for far too long, playing puppet in a war he didn't even know existed. He'd be damned if he let anyone else fall prey to a life like that.

The next time he came to focus on her, she'd set the gun back on the workbench and was looking at him questioningly. That's when Sarge cleared his throat.

"When that no-good dirtbag said he'd offered you a spot on Red Team, I'll admit I was a bit perturbed. Them Blues've got people comin' and goin' as long as I've known 'em. Us Reds…last addition we got was Donut! And that was 12 years ago….

"Point is, my men are a tight-knit bunch. I'm not saying bein' Red is a lifetime commitment, but if you're gonna be stickin' with us, I need to know that you're _with us_. You understand?"

The weight behind his question made her take a moment before answering. "Sir…Sarge, while I don't agree Grif is a dirtbag, I do understand what you're saying. And I promise, with…what little self I have, that I will never do anything that might hurt our team." She paused, "I do have a question though."

"Yeah?"

"Washington's a Blue, isn't he?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well then. Blue team can suck it."

Any doubt Sarge had about Crash was washed away in an instant as pride replaced it. Yessir, she's a Red, alright.

* * *

 _Convoy. Highway 300. 1545 hrs._

As soon as the Red's warthog broke off, Kimball signaled for one of the falcons to get a read on the situation to the convoy's rear. The message she got back wasn't good.

"Two enemy jeeps have stopped to confront the Reds and Bitter's squad. But I'm seeing another four coming up the road. Things are gonna get messy real soon, General."

She glanced in her rear-view mirror. All she could see from here was the people carrier behind her and the cloud of dust being whipped up by a dozen moving vehicles.

She flipped a switch on the dash, patching her through to the base. "Kimball to FOB!"

"Thanks for calling the United Armies of Chorus' Forward Operating Base! This is Private Donut speaking. How may I help you?"

"Donut! The convoy's under attack. We need immediate support!"

"Alright, that's one 'immediate support.' Can I get some coordinates, and I'll have that out for you in a jiffy!"

"Sending them to you now!"

"...Alright, I've got it down. Anything else you need?"

"Tell Tucker his assignment takes priority."

"…'takes priority.' Okey dokey!"

"You got that?"

"I've got it!"

"Kimball out."

The transmission ended and she set her sights back on the road, gripping the steering wheel tightly. If the pirates were looking for a fight, they'd found one. She just hoped she'd be there the see Felix's face when he realized he'd bit off more than he could chew.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Man, it is nice to get back into the swing of things!

Just because I'm curious, what are you guys more interested in: Crash & Wash's memory issues, the mole, Locus's schemes, or the convoy? I know when I read stuff, I'm always looking forward to when my favorite storyline is in the spotlight, and I'm wondering if there's one thing in particular you guys want to read about. Anywho, let me know! I love it when you guys give feedback!

As always, thanks for reading!


	17. Chapter 16: The Back-Up Plan

_UAC FOB. Medibay. 1550 hrs._

Donut had played it calm while Kimball was on the line, but now that she'd hung up, he felt as if his heart was about to burst. It was a good thing he'd actually written down the things she'd said, because at this point only one thing was truly going through his head: FIND CAROLINA.

The lightish-red armored soldier came busting through the sweeping double doors and into Wash's ward. Two ex-Freelancers stared up at the commotion, and Carolina immediately stood. "What happened?" she ordered more than asked.

Between ragged breaths he managed to get out "Convoy."

Carolina didn't run, she walked quickly with purpose, towards the comms station. Donut was right on her heels despite still catching his breath.

"When?"

"Five minutes ago."

"Did you get the coordinates?"

"Yeah."

No other words were spoken until they'd reached the comm center and Carolina had taken a look at his notes. "What the hell does this mean?" she asked, pointing to a scribbled " _Tucker's thing takes priority_."

Donut shrugged, "It's what Kimball told me."

Disregarding the note, she flipped on the radio to Sarge.

"For the love of God, Donut! Quit calling me!"

"Sarge."

"Carolina?"

"Get to the motor pool and start prepping the other warthogs. Tell your squads to get their gear on. I'll brief you all in fifteen."

"Copy that."

She flipped the radio off and turned to Donut. "If you plan on coming you need to find a replacement on comms."

"Oh, I'll be coming all right!"

Grabbing the note, she left Donut to it and went in search of Tucker and Church. They'd been hanging around the monitor room last she'd seen.

* * *

Wash was left alone again. AGAIN. Carolina had come and gone like a blink of an eye, and at this point it seemed as if nothing was resolved between the two.

He had questions for the other freelancer. Things like, Why does Tucker have Church with him? What's going on with the girl from the crash site? And, most importantly, What the hell was Donut talking about when he said 'Convoy?'

But, alas, she was gone. If he hadn't spent what was left of his energy trying to make it out of recovery he might try to go after her, but Dr. Grey and the incessant pain in his side made it clear that moving was a bad idea. The voice of reason in the back of his head was telling him just to go back to sleep. He'd done enough for one day and was still healing. _Healing takes time_.

As nice as closing his eyes and sinking back into the pillows sounded, he couldn't bring himself to do it. He had a fear (that he rarely acknowledged) that if he went back to sleep now he wouldn't be able to wake up again. Last time he'd went to sleep he'd dreamed of his old squad, of Gilly, and of the worlds he'd left behind. What else would he remember if he fell asleep now? What other memories had the AI corrupted when he tried to commit suicide in his brain?

" _It doesn't make sense!" he near shouted in frustration. He thought for sure they'd find something more in the tunnels. If nothing else than a hint of where the reds might have gone, or if they were even alive at all._

 _Maine stood still and as stoic as ever, but Wash could tell it was getting to him too. Two days they'd been searching in and around the canyon for the lost reds. Where the hell could they have gone? And "Why would the covenant even come here? It's just a simulation base!"_

A cold chill ran down his spine as he was brought back to reality. Memories like that.

He'd been through something like this before, after Epsilon first entered his mind. His months in the psych ward had him recovering memories left over from the implant: brief glimpses of what the Director had done to the Alpha.

If he could draw any comfort from his new predicament, it was this: _At least these memories were his own_. There's nothing quite like waking up and not knowing who you are; trying to wade through random thoughts just to catch a glimpse of self.

 _F &#^ it._ He wasn't going to sit around, even if he needed the rest. Whatever was going on with this 'convoy' sounded like trouble. He'd help if he could.

* * *

After Sarge got the call from Carolina, he'd left Crash to armor up. The copper colored pieces fit snugly against the black undersuit, and after she'd reattached them she couldn't help but sigh. It was good to be back in armor. In a place she was still getting accustomed to, the familiarity of it was a godsend. The sheer weight of the heavy metal plating made her feel indestructible, and while the hole in her shoulder might say otherwise, it was still a good feeling.

Hoping she hadn't torn her stitches in the process, she grabbed her helmet and ran outside to join everyone in the motor pool.

* * *

Tucker was almost relieved when Church decided to go back with Carolina. It'd been...well, no, not very nice, having his friend back. If anything, it was a reminder of how much of an asshole the AI was. Still, spending some quality time with him was a good change of pace. It was better than sitting next to an unconscious Washington-all that did was turn his stomach.

But now that Church was out of his noggin, he welcomed the freedom. Censoring his thoughts from Epsilon had been annoying and draining. How Carolina managed to put up with that for so long was beyond him.

The news that the convoy had been attacked wasn't welcome, but it wasn't surprising either. Felix always had something up his sleeve, and it'd be just like the mercenary to try and muck up their transport. What was really putting the teal soldier on edge was the fact that the mole was there. Whoever it was had obviously let the pirates in on their mission, but what other trouble would they brew up in the time it took for reinforcements to get there?

Not dwelling on it, his mind brought up the other thing he'd been trying not to think about: why he was still angry over Wash. It's not like he hadn't had time to get over it, and sure, when Wash woke up he was nothing but relieved. But what he wasn't expecting was for that relief to wear off as soon as it did. Now, as he thought about it, he couldn't help but feel indignation. If Wash had just listened to him in the first place, none of this would have happened. No Crash, no coma, no worries.

His aggravation came to a head when he nearly bumped into the steel-grey soldier outside the motor pool.

"What the hell, dude?!" he exclaimed, gesturing to his friend.

"Don't give me that look," Wash said sourly, trying to move past him.

Tucker grabbed his shoulder, and he visibly winced in pain. "The look that says, 'you just woke up from a coma and should be in bed right now?'!"

Wash shrugged him off, "I'm fine."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Okay. What if I do this?" he poked Wash lightly in his side, and the other man nearly doubled over.

"What the hell, Tucker?!"

"You said you were fine!"

"I am fine!"

Poke.

"OW!"

"Do you want me to do it again?!"

"No!"

"Then admit you're not fine and get back to the hospital!"

Wash crossed his arms stubbornly. "No," he said haughtily.

"What are you, five?"

The grey and yellow soldier didn't grace that question with an answer, which only frustrated Tucker more.

"Oh my god! Don't be a bitch about this, Wash! You're obviously hurt."

"I've lived through worse," he answered casually.

"I don't f#*&ing doubt it, but that's not the point!"

"I can still help," Wash replied, and that's when Tucker noticed a slight waver in his voice. It wasn't a statement so much as the other man pleading for it to be true.

He opened his mouth to speak when he heard footsteps behind them. Turning, he caught sight of the last person he wanted anything to do with.

Tucker made an almost inaudible groan when he saw the figure coming towards them. Turning, Wash made to see who it was. The subject in question wore light brown armor with a metallic finish to it that seemed to glisten in the sunlight. It was odd seeing Mark VI armor on anyone other than the reds and blues, and their night-vision-green visor made him even more curious about the identity of the new soldier.

Crash saw the light blue/turquoise/aqua color from a distance and thought for a brief moment it was Carolina. Then they turned to see her and she got a better look at the helmet profile. Definitely not Carolina...which meant it had to be the other guy, the one who'd made it abundantly clear he had a beef with her. Coming even closer, she saw he wasn't alone either; just behind him was the familiar steel and yellow armor that belonged to Agent Washington. This kept getting better and better.

Sighing as she came into hearing range, she figured she should offer a greeting or something. "Hanging out in doorways is fun." _Shit. That wasn't a greeting._

Even wearing full body armor, the blue managed to telegraph his annoyance so well. "Yeah, well, most people wouldn't have trouble getting by," he replied snarkily.

Wash was confused. First of all, this new guy was a girl. Secondly, did Tucker just call her fat?

 _Is he calling me fat?_

Tucker straightened up smugly. _Haha! Burn._

In an attempt to defuse the situation, Wash decided to speak up. "I think what my friend is _trying_ to say, is that we'll move-"

"You don't speak for me," Tucker interrupted disdainfully.

"Yeah, don't be a pansy, _Wash_ ," she said his name bitterly.

 _What the hell is going on here?!_

"You calling my friend a pansy?"

"And here I thought _I_ was the deaf one."

"Ha. Ha. You're so funny," Tucker mocked, "At least I'm not so unoriginal as to call myself 'Crash.'"

"Is that supposed to be an insult, you lint-licking ass clown?"

Wash stepped between them, "Woah, woah. Everyone, let's just calm down...And what the hell is lint-licking?"

"Why don't you ask your blue buddy? Looks like he licks lint all the time."

"Oh, you wanna go?!"

Still confused, Wash pushed himself further between them. "Geez-what is wrong with you two?!"

"She started it!"

"And I'll finish it too, piss-munch!"

"That's enough!" Wash said sternly. "This is not the time or the place for this-"

"Maybe if _someone_ wasn't blocking the door…"

"ALL OF YOU, QUIET!"

They'd all been so engrossed in fighting that none of them had noticed Carolina come up from behind Wash. Crash stood at attention before her superior. Wash would have done the same if he could, but his wounded side wouldn't allow it. Tucker refused to meet the ex-Freelancer's gaze, scornfully crossing his arms over his chest.

"A large part of our army is being attacked _as we speak_ , and I come out to find some of our best fighters squabbling like children! Tucker! Get inside!"

Wordlessly he pushed past the others and entered the building.

"As for you two," she approached menacingly, "Report back to the medibay immediately."

The two instantly began to protest, but were silenced by her raised hand. "Until you're cleared for duty by Doctor Grey herself, I'm not letting either of you anywhere near a battle. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes ma'am," Crash responded through gritted teeth. Wash just shook his head and turned to shuffle back to the medical center.

With that, Carolina went back inside and Crash easily caught up to Washington. "You're not really going back there, are you?" she asked.

"Where else would I go?" he replied moodily.

"I don't know! Look, just stop," she grabbed his shoulder.

"What?"

"What was your plan?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't mess with me, dude. You don't seem stupid enough to believe they'd let you go when you can't even walk right. So what was your plan?"

Wash was hesitant to answer. He'd been so focused on getting there, he hadn't really taken the time to come up with a plan. In all honesty, it was a miracle he'd gotten this far. Not wishing to sound like an idiot, he decided the best alternative would be: "Like I would tell you."

She visibly tensed up. _Okay, so maybe that wasn't the best option._ "You really are a prick," she muttered, clearly wounded. She shoved past him.

"Wait!" he called to her, partially because he felt bad about offending her, and partially because he didn't know if he could make it back on his own. Relief washed over him for a moment when she stopped; then he realized she was waiting for a real answer. Not being able to think of anything else, he blurted out, "There's a healing unit."

Curiosity peaked, she turned to face him fully. "What kind of healing unit?"

Damn. He didn't even know who had it at this point. Carolina? Tucker? Or had Grey kept it for emergencies? "Old Freelancer tech…hurts like hell, but it works."

She approached him once more. "How well?" she asked suspiciously. "Just-got-out-of-a-coma-after-being-impaled well? Or I-need-my-stitches-gone well?"

"It'll work on your stitches. Might not be enough to get me cleared by Grey, but I'd be able to stand up straight again." _Don't ask me where it is. Don't ask me where it is._

"Where is it?"

 _F* &#. Honesty is the best policy, right? Just tell her you don't-_ "Tucker has it." _Dammit, Wash.  
_

"Tucker?...Your boyfriend?"

"What?! He's not my-boyfriend? Who the hell gave you that idea?!"

She defensively raised her hands, "Chill, bruha. Don't get an aneurysm. I just figured...guy hasn't left your side, hates my guts...One and one is three, _if ya know what I mean_."

"That...doesn't make any sense."

Shrugging, she stepped uncomfortably close to him. "So, how do we get it from him?" she half-whispered in what he would later dub her 'scheming voice.'

Great. What the hell did he just get himself into?

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Hey there!

Hope everyone's having a great Thanksgiving weekend! And to everyone outside the States, a great regular weekend!

Last chapter I asked what plot line you guys most enjoyed, and the general consensus was the Wash/Crash memory issues. Which is cool, cuz that's my favorite too! Sadly, it might be a while before that all gets resolved. However, we're almost through the Convoy story arc! So thanks for hanging in there with me, and I swear we'll get to the good stuff eventually.

Since I started writing this I've always tried to encourage feedback, and you guys have been great about answering my questions and letting me know what you think. So thanks for your reviews!

Thanks for reading! :)


	18. Chapter 17: The Mark

_UAC FOB. Just outside the Motor Pool. 1600 hrs._

"If he's leaving with Carolina, that doesn't give us much time…" she paced thoughtfully. They'd moved into the alley between the motor pool and the north tower because Wash had suggested it was 'less conspicuous.' In reality he didn't know if he could've stood on his own much longer. Leaning against the wall, trying to shift his weight to his good side, he watched from the sidelines as she plotted against Tucker.

"You're sure he has it on him?" she stopped, addressing him for the first time since they'd moved out of the road.

 _God, I hope not_ , he thought grimly. "Yes," he lied. At this point he didn't even know why, but his little fibs were stacking up. How much trouble would they both be in when she actually went to confront his teammate?

"Alright! Here's the plan: you radio your buddy and get him to come back out, and then I'll jump him." She was bouncing on her toes excitedly.

"That's…" a terrible idea.

"I know, I know! It sucks," she went back to pacing. "But what other options do we have?

"You could always-"

"That was rhetorical! I don't need your input, Mr. Imgonnawalkoffallmysteriouslikeandleavecrashtiedtoabed."

"I have no idea what you just said."

"Good, you poser!"

Sighing, he shifted again. Even though he'd made up the whole 'healing unit scenario,' it was starting to sound pretty nice. If he could get rid of the ache in his side, he'd be golden. "Look, I know you're upset, but maybe this isn't such a good idea. Carolina was right. I'm in no shape to go anywhere and you-"

"I made a promise to Sarge," she interrupted, her voice taking on a much more serious tone. "I told him I'd back my team. Carolina can sideline me all she wants, but that's not gonna stop me from keeping my word."

"Right…" he trailed off.

" _I'm not leaving them." The Red pried himself out of his grip._

" _They're just simulation troopers; that's practically the definition of 'expendable.'" he protested._

" _In what twisted world are you living in that human lives aren't worth anything?"_

" _Illinois-"_

" _Don't you dare f#* &ing call me that," the man spit out. "Either help me get my team back or get out of the way, _Wash _."_

"Agent Washington?"

He was breathing heavily, and had somehow managed to slide down the side of the wall, sitting as curled up as his wounded side allowed. She was crouching in front of him, her helmet tossed away and a worried expression plastered on her face.

"What's wrong? I know you're hurt, but are you hurt?" She glanced down at his side then back at his visor. "Can you breathe alright?"

Wincing, he reached for his own helmet. She stopped him, "I've got it. Don't move."

"Okay…" he muttered as she released the clasp and pulled it off.

She was looking him dead in the eye, irises glistening like faded green copper.

Tunnel vision started creeping in. _Just great._

"I think I'm going to pass out now."

Everything faded to black.

* * *

"Well mix me up and call me 'Puddin,'" she sighed in frustration. She'd just have to radio the other blue guy herself. Did she even have his channel? Radios worked on channels, right? Shit. Hold on, Wash would have the channel! She pushed the grey helmet on her head.

"Holy mother of frog, does he live in this thing?" she went to rub her nose from the smell but ended up whacking her hand on the visor.

A warning appeared on the screen: **Unauthorized User**.

"Paranoid f#*&. Agent Washington's passed out. Can I send a message to Tucker?"

 **Calling...Lavernius Tucker.** She sniggered.

There was a slight buzzing and then, "Make it quick, dude. We're about to leave."

She tried to hold back her laughter, "Lavernius? Seriously?"

"Who the hell- Where's Wash?"

"Oh, right. He passed out. Can you come outside the motor pool? We really need the healing unit. Like, pronto."

"Wait-Crash? What happened? Is he okay?"

"I don't know. He just kind of collapsed, and I don't want to move him. He said you had the healing unit-"

"What? I don't have it!"

"What? He was positive you had it!"

"Well he's wrong. Call Grey. She'll get a team to him."

"But…" she wanted to say 'she hates me,' but then she thought about it, and realized Tucker did too. "I'm sorry...I'm...he'll be fine. I'll call Grey. Sorry."

 **Message Terminated.**

Dammit. Here everyone was all ready to go fight pirates and she'd probably just ruined any kind of calm Tucker'd accrued since Wash woke up. _Way to go, Crash._

* * *

His heart was beating like war drums in his chest and he tried to ignore it. Wash would be fine. Guy's a cockroach, right? Yeah, what's a little passing out going to hurt?

Tucker fidgeted in his seat beside Carolina.

"What was that?" she asked regarding the call.

"Nothing. Just people being stupid."

His knee was bouncing up and down nervously. There was no way in hell she really believed it was 'nothing,' but she had enough tact not to pry further. Instead she asked, "You good?"

Tucker nodded. They'd got a read on the mole, Kimball's ridiculous plan was working, and now they were off to beat the shit out of Felix. Even if he wasn't all 'good,' he'd soon get there. Just had to focus on the mission and try and forget how much of an idiot Wash could be.

* * *

Pacing even more nervously than before, Crash debated on how to get in touch with Dr. Grey. She couldn't remember if she'd put her line in her helmet, and she didn't want to leave Washington passed out in the alley while she went in search for her. If there was someone else she could get in touch with she would, but all the people she knew were either part of the convoy or headed there now via teleportation cube.

"You're just a pile of turds today, aren't you guy?" she sighed and looked over the unconscious ex-Freelancer. Frowning, she went to see if there were any passerby on the road. A lone Fed soldier was what can only be described as 'sauntering' down the way.

"Oi! You!" she called over.

The man whirled around in panic at the sound, pulling out his pistol and letting a round go. It missed her by a mile, but did nothing to brighten her mood.

"What in the-f#*&ing f#*&! Who in hell gave you a weapon?! Get over here nimrod!

"Oh goodness! I'm so sorry!" he called over. She stood warily as he approached. "Wait a second, you're the girl from the-"

"Crash. Yeah. Thanks for reminding me. Look, dude. I need you to go get Grey. Tell her someone passed out by the motor pool."

The Fed nodded before looking over her shoulder to the alley she'd come from. "What happened? Are they okay?"

"If they were okay, I wouldn't be sending for Grey, now, would I?"

His head tilted skeptically. "What were you doing over there?"

"I don't think that's any of your business, grunt-shnozzle."

"Does that mean…"

"It means, scram! Go get Grey and quit judging people!"

He shook his head and stepped at a casual pace toward the direction of the medical bay.

"Would you hurry?!" she called after him. "Seriously, what the hell is wrong with that guy?"

Hoping that the Fed would actually do as she asked, she went back to the alley to check up on Washington. He was breathing normally, but even in unconsciousness he had a sort of sour expression.

 _Well shiz-nit_. She didn't know him very well, but tough break. First getting impaled and then shot! And then there was the whole coma thing-which he barely managed to get out of-and now he was acting all crazy-dazy, almost as if…

As if he'd remembered something.

She'd left his helmet lying beside him after calling Tucker. Now she picked it up to get a better look. The bright yellow accents shouldn't compliment the dark grey, but in a weird way they did. She stared into the reinforced glass, the golden visor mirroring her green one. Touching her helmet to his, she closed her eyes.

 _What does he see when he sees me?_

* * *

Tucker was positively restless. His knee was shaking the whole warthog along with it, and his fingers tapped anxiously by the hilt of his energy sword. He hadn't gotten word from Crash or Emily. Was Wash okay? He'd just woken up from a coma! What the hell had he been thinking walking around already?

The more he thought about it, the more he could feel his body tense up and his stomach churn. What if something happened while he was gone? What if his friend didn't wake up this time?

At this point they were seconds from deployment. Church was busy configuring the future cubes to drop them in the right place and Carolina was perched up in the driver's seat next to him, ready to give the order to go. There were five other jeeps and a people carrier parked beside them, all filled to the brink with battle-ready soldiers.

With a sudden intake of breath, panic seeped into his lungs and he plucked himself out of the warthog and onto the hard concrete ground.

"Where are you-" Carolina turned in confusion, but he was already halfway out of the motor pool.

"I'll meet up with you later!" he yelled back over his shoulder, not slowing his pace.

An orange glow filled the garage and Carolina started yelling commands at her troops.

Church popped up next to him, "But what about the-"

"Later!" Tucker batted him away and ran outside just as the a portal to the convoy opened up and swallowed the battalion whole.

"F#&^berries," Tucker breathed out as he was met by a bright sun in a cloudless sky. The orange dirt road of the base was a stark contrast to the dark grey interior of the motor pool and his HUD took a moment to adjust itself accordingly. Stepping forward, he nervously scanned the area for his friend and that girl.

As soon as she noticed him, she called him over to the alley. Wash was leaned up against the sheet-metal exterior of the building, his chin resting heavily on the breastplate of his armor and his arms hanging limp at his sides. Crash was now standing, the yellow and grey helmet held under her arm.

After confirming his friend was at least alive, he turned to her sharply, "What the hell happened?! You two were supposed to go back to the hospital!"

"We were on our way…" she explained, her voice laced with guilt, "But then he said you had a healing unit. We were planning on stealing it from you when he just sort of froze up. Next thing I knew he was on the ground, and then he passed out."

"Did you call Grey?"

"I sent one of the cyclops looking guys to go get her. I didn't know how else to reach her and I wasn't going to leave him."

At least she hadn't been completely useless. He held his hand out in a gesture for the helmet which she gave to him shortly. There was a slight *shunk* as he pushed it back over Wash's head and the seal came up. Tucker knocked lightly on the side of the helmet. "Wash?"

To Crash's surprise, the ex-Freelancer actually started coming to.

"Yo, Wash," Tucker continued to tap the fiberglass.

* * *

Opening his eyes, he was met by the sight of Tucker kneeling in front of him. Crash was just behind, her hands clasped together worriedly by her chin.

THUNK THUNK THUNK

"Stop that," he shooed Tucker away from his helmet.

"You alive?"

"What do you think?" he retorted coldly.

"I think you're an idiot," Tucker shot back bitterly before standing to look down at him. "You're lucky this chick cares enough not to just leave your ass on the curb," he thumbed over to Crash. "Now, get up."

Wash didn't even bother to try, "That...is easier said than done."

"I guess that means you're not going anywhere." The aqua soldier crossed his arms over his chest, and, turning to Crash, asked as politely as he could for her to leave them. A sideways glance at Wash had him nodding okay, and she shuffled back to the road.

Okay...so Tucker was clearly not in a great mood.

"What's all this crap about the healing unit?" Tucker asked accusingly.

And there it was. "Um…" Wash really had no idea what to tell him. He didn't know why he'd brought any of it up in the first place and it was proving to be much more of a fiasco than anticipated.

"You don't even know, do you?" Tucker shook his head. At least it was some kind of out, and Wash was able to release the breath he'd been holding. "Where the hell is your head at, dude?" the blue barked at him.

"I'm sorry," he shifted his back to relieve some of the pain in his side. "Things just sort of got out of hand…"

"Whatever. You may not know this because you've been half-dead for a few weeks, but things have been 'out of hand' for a while now."

"Tucker-"

"Don't, man. Don't start. 'Cause at this point, I don't want to hear it."

Wash had gone so long without one that even now that he felt it coming he could hardly wrap his head around it. The silence was thick, and Tucker had the high ground in every sense. That stoic stance with his shoulders held back and his face turned away, as if he didn't want to do it but knew he had to. Wash remembered Connie standing like that after their first failed mission, and the Director after he'd accidentally turned off all of the Mother of Invention's artificial gravity systems. Right now was the calm before the storm, and even though he'd watched his friend grow as a soldier and as a human being over the time they'd spent together, he still couldn't believe he was about to be _lectured_ by Tucker of all people.

He nearly winced when Tucker finally managed to get a word out. "I want you to repeat after me," he said.

 _Wut._ "What?"

"Bitch, you heard me." He cleared his throat, beginning with "I, Agent Washington…"

"You've got to be joking."

"You wanna hand up? Say the f#*&ing words."

Sighing, Wash repeated, "I, Agent Washington…"

"...Am an idiot."

"Tucker…"

"Say it."

"I, Agent Washington, am an idiot."

"I am a selfish, stubborn bastard."

*Sigh* "I am a selfish, stubborn bastard."

"And just because I'm a badass…"

"Just because I'm a badass…"

"Doesn't mean I shouldn't listen to Tucker."

"...Doesn't mean I shouldn't listen to Tucker." He shook his head. That had to be it, right?

Nope. "Tucker can be a real dick sometimes."

"Tucker can be a dick sometimes?"

"But that doesn't always make him wrong."

He stared up the man in front of him. He had shifted from a defiant, stoic stance to one of nervous sincerity. Wash felt a pang of guilt all of a sudden, as a lot of things were becoming clearer. He opened his mouth to repeat the phrase, but something else came out:

"I'm sorry I didn't listen to you."

"That's not what I-" Tucker started before trailing off, the words really registering.

Wash went on. "You told me not to go alone and I wound up hurt. You were right, and I shouldn't have dismissed you like that."

The other man looked down at him, not knowing how to respond. The air between the two was thick, so Tucker closed the gap, stepping towards the wall and sliding to sit next to his friend.

A long while passed before the teal soldier finally got the nerve to speak, and when he did, it was quiet, intimate in that only Wash would hear, "I'm sorry I didn't go with you."

* * *

By the time Crash found and brought back Dr. Grey (she'd passed the Fed soldier loitering outside the medical bay, chatting up a nurse who was taking a smoke break), the Blues were sitting side by side, the only thing between them an amicable silence.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Hey there, person!

I had an absolute blast writing this chapter, so I hope you enjoy it as much as I have. :)

As always, thanks for reading and feel free to review! All feedback is helpful (and it's nice to hear from you).


	19. Chapter 18: The Not-So-Dynamic Duo

_Carolina's Backup Squad. Just off Highway 300. 1700 hrs._

"F&*^. F#*&^#^ F$*& F#*& YOU F$*&&#* ASSWIPE!"

"Calm. Down."

"I WILL NOT BE CALM. DO NOT TELL ME TO BE CALM."

"CHURCH!" She scolded through gritted teeth. They'd just reappeared in the badlands, and after a moment of everyone catching their breath Carolina had managed to at least interrupt his tirade. "What's done is done. So chill out and get your head in the game! I need you right now!"

The AI's projection paced across the dash of the warthog. "WHAT THE HELL WAS HE THINKING?!"

"It doesn't matter right now. The only thing that does is getting support to the rest of our troops. So you either get with it or log off until you can calm the f*&# down."

Church kept on fuming, but he at least had the intelligence to do so quietly. _That moron kept our mole-tracer with him._

* * *

 _UAC FOB. Medibay. 1700 hrs._

With Wash passed out back in his hospital bed, a peaceful look _washed_ over his features. (Zing!) For the first time in weeks Tucker felt like an enormous weight had been lifted off his chest. And while it still annoyed him to no end that that Crash person was up and around while his best friend was out for the count, he no longer felt angry. That in and of itself had him half smiling as he sat in his regular spot by Wash's bed.

It felt good to not be angry.

Of course, that thought just had him smirking and thinking about a certain AI who could learn from such a revelation. Which lead him to consider why his friend was continually in some state of repressed rage. And that thought had him thinking about all the idiots the poor blue glowy man had to put up with. _Good thing I'm not like them_ , he chuckled while absentmindedly pulling out a little purple-dotted beacon and twirling it around his fingers.

It took him at least five minutes to realize what he was holding.

"Oh, f#*&berries."

* * *

In the next room over, Crash was getting a stern lecture from one very pissed-off Doctor. After discovering the deaf amnesiac had ripped her stitches (again), Dr. Grey had given up the cause and gone straight for some weird, alien-looking contraption that glowed green when she turned it on. Bathing in that odd light, Crash felt utterly content. Ignoring the physician's harsh rant, and smiling dazedly, her glossy eyes turned to the machine. "What is that thing?" she asked.

"That, is a Freelancer healing unit!" Grey replied, her angry tone turning passively excited as she was able to share information in lieu of scolding.

This had Crash sobering up quite a bit. " _That's_ the healing unit?!" _But Wash told me…_ Her features darkened. She knew Agent Washington had lied to her when Tucker said he didn't have it, but in the moment she hadn't really had time to consider the whys and the hows. Now that she had a moment, she determined that it peeved her to no end. She mentally marked a tally in her growing "Reasons to Dislike Wash" chart.

Huffing, Crash decided to focus on something positive, and was happy to report her shoulder felt infinitely better than it had earlier in the day. Looking down, she was amazed that the wound had actually closed already, marked only by fresh pink scar tissue. She was in the middle of examining her shoulder when a flash of teal passed by the open door.

Tucker's swift departure did not go unnoticed by either woman.

"He's going to try and regroup with Carolina's squad," Crash surmised before turning a pleading look towards the Fed doctor. "Doc… Let me go with him."

Grey shook her head, "Your shoulder-"

"Is better!" Crash stated adamantly. "Look. The only reason he's going alone is because I had to crash and get his partner shot to shit. I owe you people everything...the least I can do is fight with my friends."

Doc Grey gave a long-winded sigh. "Ah, what the hell." Then she set to work installing the unit in Crash's armor with the explanation that, "If you're going, you can at least take this with you. I'm sure someone will be able to make use of it." Once she'd finished that and helped Crash with her shoulder and chest plates she shooed the copper-colored soldier away. "You'll have to hurry if you want to catch up to him," she warned.

Crash nodded before stopping just at the threshold. "Thank you, Grey. I mean it."

"Sarge and the others… they trust you," Grey remarked sagely before her tone turned gleeful, "If you let them down I will have no problem 'donating' your body for science and using you for parts!"

Crash was out the door and sprinting like hell towards the motor pool before Grey could say more.

* * *

She heard him long before she could see him. "Son of a bitch!" echoed through the large garage and assaulted her ears when she opened the double doors to the motor pool. In the center of a starkly empty area was a fuming turquoise/teal soldier, kicking at the ground and resting frustrated hands on the top of his helmeted head.

"What is it?" she asked, looking around the empty garage. "They didn't take all the teleporty cubes, did they?"

"There's a f#*& ton of cubes. Which doesn't help shit when they didn't leave any warthogs!"

"Well there has to be something!" she jogged up beside him before scanning the place. "This can't be the only place with vehicles. Even a mongoose-"

"Bitch, what do you know?"

"I know that being mean isn't gonna find us a vehicle." She grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed until he was facing her.

"'Us?' Listen lady, nobody invited you."

"I don't want to ride with you either, Blue" she practically spat the last word, "But I've got a healing unit and a stolen flamethrower, and I intend to use them on people! So use your f#*&ing head and think of where we can find a vehicle!"

"There isn't anything else! The nearest garage is in Armonia! Theres noth-" he stopped mid-rant.

"What?"

"The impound lot."

"What?"

"Come on!" Tucker grabbed her hand and dragged her running out of the motor pool.

"You do have a cube, right?"

"Don't worry, I grabbed one on the way in."

They were halfway across the base in a matter of minutes.

"Man, you are fast," she huffed as she tried to keep up. "You're calves must be amazing."

"Hell yeah, they are! Keep up slow-poke mcgee."

"I *huff* hate *huff* run-ning."

Tucker slowed down and turned into a fenced-off area, having hardly broken a sweat. "Geez, no wonder you and Grif get along." There was a booth next to a lift-up car gate. Tucker addressed the New Republic Private manning the station, "Yo, I need to confiscate something road-worthy."

"YESSIR, CAP'N TUCKER, SIR!" the man in the window saluted.

"Woah! At-ease, soldier. We're kinda on a time-crunch here."

"LET ME CHECK MY FILES. SIR!" the over-enthusiastic man shouted back in a high pitch before scanning a monitor. "ONE ROAD-READY VEH'CLE, SIR!" the Private ducked down before coming back up with a set of keys and handing them to the Blue. "VEH'CLE'S IN THE BACK O' THE LOT, CAP'N TUCKER!" he saluted again.

"Thanks Private..." he squinted at the man's nametag, "...Cummings."

Crash snorted.

"That's f#*&ing mature," the Private remarked coolly before raising the gate for them to enter the impound lot. "GOOD LUCK CAP'N TUCKER, SIR!" he screeched as Tucker ran by. When Crash came through she could've sworn she heard a mumbled "Bitch."

They set at a brisk walk until they'd reached the back of the parking lot where the Private had described.

"Aw, hell no!" Tucker griped, "You have got to be shitting me."

"What the hell is that?" Crash stared at the alien looking bike-thing. "Can you drive that thing?"

"Pfft! I used to ride one of these back in the desert when I was working with the Aliens-don't ask," he commented off-handedly. "Sweet ride...but not so reliable. And I don't even know if it can fit two people."

"I'm going," she said determinedly.

"Woah, chill out, lady, I'm just telling you…"

She huffed at that. "What other options are there? All the jeeps are gone, and I sure as hell can't run fast enough or long enough to catch up with Carolina's squad, let alone the rest of the convoy. You may have calves of steel, but I doubt you could do it either."

"Alright, alright." He pulled a future cube off his hip. "Man, I sure hope this is set to the right place."

"You don't know?!"

"Guess we'll find out." He set the cube off between them and the vehicle, and a second later, the area was engulfed in orange light. As soon as the light receded, the lot was one alien chopper less, and absent the red and blue duo.

* * *

 _Just off Highway 300. 1740 hrs._

They reappeared, gasping, in the middle of a desert landscape. Surrounded by the orange light of a setting sun and little more than gravel and the occasional shrubbery, Tucker and Crash took a moment to find their bearings after teleporting. The chopper's kickstand had sunk into the rocks, making the large vehicle lean precariously away from them. Letting out a breath he'd been holding, Tucker righted the bike before studying the seat. "This definitely isn't built for two people," he commented.

Crash walked over to inspect it herself. "Well maybe-" she pointed behind the seat, but there was literally nothing there. "How about-" Looking at the large front end, she tried to find somewhere a person might gain and hold some kind of footing. There was nothing that wasn't uncomfortably close to the engine or in front of the guns. Growling in frustration, she paced around the back.

Tucker was still looking at the little sitting compartment, doing his best to size it up. Then he glanced at his reluctant partner. After eyeing her up and down he asked, "What are you, a size 5?"

She stopped, shifting self-consciously in her armor, before replying sharply, "What's it to you?"

"I think we both might fit here if we squeeze a little."

Glancing skeptically at the seat, she shook her head. "Our armor's too big. It won't work."

"Not with that attitude," he chided before straddling the seat and scooting up as far as his armor's chestpiece would let him. "Come on, it's not gonna kill ya to try it."

"Fine." She stepped behind him, then lifted a leg to the other side until she was standing just behind him. "There's no room to sit," she complained.

"Just try it, you baby." She pushed his head forward into the steering apparatus. "Hey!" Dropping down to sit behind him, her chestpiece scraped against his back, the metal on metal making an obnoxious screeching noise.

By the time she was fully seated behind him, they were wedged so tightly together it was difficult for either of them to breathe. "I told you this wouldn't work!"

"Okay, alright, you were right," he groaned. "Get off and we'll try something else."

Her feet were pushing on the ground, but she found that she wasn't going anywhere. "Oh no."

"What? What's wrong."

"I'm stuck."

"WHAT?"

She struggled to get back to a standing position, but the more she moved, the more she wedged herself in between Tucker and the seat back. "This isn't working. You try and move!"

"You think I'm not?" he grunted as they squirmed.

After ten minutes of panicked movements and long-winded cursing sessions, the desert had fallen still and silent. As a tumbleweed drifted by, Tucker sighed. "Let's just figure it out once we get there."

Crash growled in frustration before reluctantly agreeing. "It's a good thing I don't have any kind of reputation to tarnish."

"Oh shut up," Tucker whined miserably as he started the engine. "And just for the record, I _really_ hate you."

"Eh, what else is new?"

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Hehay! Long time no see!

I know it's been forever, so thanks for stopping by. I'll start off by saying sorry for no warning on the hiatus. When it comes to life in general, I'm a notorious quitter. HOWEVER, I said I was gonna finish this, and I am determined to do so! It just might take a while...

There are 2 chapters left in this story arc and then we're wrapping up this 'mole' business and moving on to much more exciting things. I can't promise those chapters will be up anytime soon, so I apologize in advance for any more long breaks.

Now, I guess I'll express my gratitude for everyone who's stuck with this fic and to all those who fav, follow, and review. It really does mean a lot to me, so thank you.

'Til next time!


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